I am who?
by Shameless-Royed-Fan1023
Summary: Harry Potter wakes up at his aunt and uncle's house...with no memory of the past six years. He cannot remember magic, Hogwarts, or even his two loyal best friends. He does know that something is very wrong, and his relatives are treating him like a bomb
1. The boy who lived?

Harry Potter awoke with an abrupt start. His brain and his scar were burning like mad. He felt as though he was awakening from a terrible dream, and he was drenched in sweat. He felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a huge mallet. He clutched at his forehead, and moaned in pain.

"Harry! Get up!" called his Aunt Petunia from outside his cupboard.

_His cupboard? _Harry scratched his forehead, searching his brain for memories. He remembered living somewhere else other than his cupboard…or did he? His brain throbbed harder. Harry tried to remember a time that he hadn't lived in the musty old cupboard under the stairs, but he couldn't remember anything other than the faint memory of Dudley's second bedroom. Harry's brain was suddenly on fire, and another memory, though it seemed fake, jumped into his brain.

_"You have never lived anywhere other than your cupboard,"_ A sickening voice said in his mind. They were Harry thoughts, but the voice that said them sounded strangely familiar…

"Harry! I'm not going to call you again!"

Harry didn't even bother to get out of bed. He flipped on a switch, and a lamp above his head flipped on dimly. He knew that Aunt Petunia would barge into his room and pull him out of bed. She'd been doing that for the past ten years or so anyway.

_Ten years?_ again Harry's brain argued against this fact. He wasn't ten, he was…

Harry couldn't even remember how old he was. All he was sure of that he wasn't ten years old.

_"You are ten years old."_ The sickly voice in his head rasped. _"You live with your aunt and uncle in the cupboard under the stairs."_

Harry's head began to throb. He pulled his blanket over his head and sighed. He wasn't sure what had happened to him, and he wasn't particularly anxious to find out.

"Harry?" For a moment, Aunt Petunia sounded a little worried. "Wake up!"

"I'm coming…" Harry replied wearily, dragging himself out of bed. He looked in the dirty mirror above his head. Harry stared, not because of his messy, scraggly appearance, but because he looked at least five years older than he remembered being last night. Last night…

_What had he done last night?_ Harry searched his brain, ignoring the throbbing in his head. Harry remembered a flash of light, and a scream…

As soon as Harry had this thought, it died. He couldn't remember even a wisp of it. Puzzled, and a little worried, Harry pulled a shirt over his head and climbed out of his cupboard.

He found himself staring Aunt Petunia right in the face. She scowled at him.

"Sss…Sorry," he muttered, although he wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for.

"Never mind that," she snapped, "Go fix the breakfast."

Harry didn't know what to say. He sighed and trudged over to the kitchen, throwing a scowl at Aunt Petunia over his shoulder.

Harry wasn't sure what he would find in the kitchen. All he knew was that he wanted some answers. He needed to know what had happened to him. A thought hit Harry like a train. He could try remembering again. Maybe, if he did that, the voice could give him some answers. Harry fought to remember so hard that his brain throbbed and his fist curled up into a ball.

_He was in the middle of a graveyard. A man in a large cloak stood above him, glaring. Harry could see someone sprawled out on the ground, dead. He shivered. Where was he? What was happening…_

Harry fought to keep the daydream going, but it faded away as quickly as it had come. He fought harder to keep it alive in his mind, but just like before, it died, and Harry only had wisps of it left in his memory.

_"You have never been to a graveyard."_ said the sickly voice.

"Wait!" Harry called aloud, "What's happening to me?!"

The voice faded away, and Harry found himself fully awake, lying on the floor outside of the kitchen. He scrambled up and ran wearily into the kitchen, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

It seemed like it took a very long time for Harry to get into the kitchen, although it was less than thirty seconds away from his cupboard. He felt like he was floating. When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to see that Dudley looked much different than Harry remembered. He too looked older than ten as well, and his muscles were considerably larger. Harry shuddered, hoping that Dudley had lost interest in using him as his punching bag. Unfortunately for Harry, the only open seat at the table was directly in between his two least favorite people: Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Sighing heavily, he plopped down on the wobbly chair, and stared at his bacon, hoping nobody would notice that he was still sweaty.

It took Harry less than thirty seconds after he sat down to remember what had just happened in the hallway. Instantly, the memory of the graveyard and the voice rushed back to him. He looked at his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin and realized that they were avoiding his gaze, although he didn't know why. Harry cleared his throat, and Dudley shuddered as though he though Harry was mad and dangerous.

Seeing the looks that his relatives gave him, Harry immediately decided against telling them about his memory problems. There was no reason to make them think he was any more trouble than they already thought he was.

Harry was tempted to try remembering something else, but he pushed this though aside almost as soon as he thought it up. He head was throbbing hard enough without him trying to think up lost memories.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Harry said, getting up and walking out of the kitchen.

He could tell that Aunt Petunia was going to say something, but he ignored her.

When he got to his cupboard, instead of going inside, he bypassed it, and walked up to Dudley's second bedroom, determined to find out why he'd suddenly thought it belonged to him. The door was locked. Harry tried with all his might to get it open. He pulled, he pushed, he jammed, and he even tried to kick the door down, but it didn't budge. Harry sighed, and glared at the lock.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to think up another way to open the door. He heard a click as the lock gave way. Harry stared. The door had unlocked itself!

Harry hesitated, then went inside. Everything in the room was messy, and there was no sign of the usual crowd of Dudley's junk that usually crowded the room. Instead, there was a trunk in the corner, an unmade bed by the wall, and an owl in a cage on the counter. _An Owl?_

Harry looked at the snowy white owl, wondering why on earth his aunt and uncle had left an owl locked up in the bedroom. The owl hooted, and looked at Harry with it's yellow eyes. It seemed to be trying to say something to him. It seemed so familiar.

_"You do not know this owl."_ Said the terrible voice inside Harry's head. _"You have never seen it before."_

Harry rubbed his head, which was throbbing. Why was this voice constantly tormenting him?

_Dear Harry,_

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? Hermione and I have been worried sick. You haven't responded to any of my fellytone, (There was a mark here that indicated that Ron had crossed out fellytone)_ telephone calls, and Pig hasn't brought back any replies to my letters. Did you start looking for Horcruxes without us or something?_

Please respond, we're really worried about you.

_-Ron _


	2. Starting over

Harry peered closely at the owl. It clicked its beak impatiently, and motioned towards the locked cage door with its beak. Harry knew, almost as though it was speaking to him, that it wanted to be let out. Harry was tempted to let it out, but his conscience kept him back. In fact, Harry wasn't sure whether or it was actually his conscience, or the mysterious voice sinking into his brain.

The thought of some other voice leaking into his brain was enough to make Harry feel sick. Disgusted, Harry left the room. Although he was curious about the strange room, and the owl, Harry felt that something wasn't right.

_"Leave the room. There is nothing special for you here. You will never be able remember your past," _the voice sneered.

Harry could swear that he'd heard the voice before, but he couldn't quite place it. The words sunk in, and something inside Harry told him that they were true. Harry sighed, and felt his legs take him out of the room.

Nothing interesting happened to Harry Potter for the remainder of the summer. His _conscience_ kept him far away from the locked second bedroom, and his thoughts stayed firmly on the present. His aunt and uncle continued to treat him like a piece of rubbish that had found itself into their household. Dudley treating him even worse. Instead of using him as a punch bag as Harry remembered, he began to make cruel jokes towards Harry and occasionally lock him in his cupboard.

Before Harry knew it, the time had come for him to be back at school. The only problem was that he had no idea where he went to school. By listening to a few vague hints that Uncle Vernon had dropped, Harry could tell that he and Dudley went to different schools.

By the end of the week, Harry had figured out that he went to the newest Public High School in Little Winging, called Kinselton. It would be his first year there, and his relatives refused to tell him where he'd gone before that.

When Harry first walked into Kinselton, he was overwhelmed with the putrid small of old cheese and mustard. None of the kids even smiled at him, they just glared. Harry knew it was probably because nobody wanted to hang out with the weird kid with glasses, who was on Dudley's bad side.

Harry walked towards the big sign that said MAIN OFFICE. A lady with enormous glasses who was sitting at a huge desk smiled at him when he walked in.

Harry smiled in spite of himself, and then added nervously, "I…I'm new, and I don't know where my locker or classes or anything is."

She smiled again, and began typing furiously on her computer until the computer gave a loud _bing_ and some papers began to print on the printer. She picked them up, stapled them together, and handed them to Harry.

"Thanks," he said, before leaving to find his locker, number seven hundred and thirteen.

It took Harry almost fifteen minutes to find his locker, and when he did, he was disgusted to find that it was covered in a weird gunk that he later identified as chewed gum.

His first class was math. His teacher reminded him of someone, but he wasn't quite sure who. She had a pinched look on her face, and she looked quite demanding. Her name was Ms. Minerva.

"Welcome to Eleventh Grade Math." she said, her voice crisp and strict. "Please take out your math books."

Harry looked around, and saw that his fellow classmates were all taking out large textbooks. He raised his hand tentatively. She raised her eyebrows at him, and nodded.

"I don't have a math book," he stuttered, "I'm new."

She scowled at him as though she thought getting a math book out for him would be a huge problem. He gave her a pleading look. She raised her eyebrows once more, then pulled a book out from the shelf on the wall. Harry took it and opened it up as he'd seen his other classmates do.

Mrs. Minerva began to write out some equations on the chalkboard. Harry watched her write, before realizing that he had no idea how to do any of the equations that she clearly expected them to know.

When she was done, she turned back to them. "Turn to page twenty. Do problems sixteen through fifty-eight. I expect them by the time this class period is over."

Harry turned to page twenty, and stared at the text. He'd never seen such complicated problems in his life. Harry wanted to raise his hand again, but Mrs. Minerva scared him a little, and he didn't want to seem dumb compared to the other kids, who were hard at work.

By the end of his first day at Kinselton, he'd acquired extra homework in every single subject because he was years behind everyone else. He'd tried to explain to his teachers that he'd lost most of his memory and he didn't remember the any of the materials that he was sure that he'd already learned, but they didn't believe him. Harry didn't blame them; He wouldn't believe himself either.

Harry had to walk home from school, because Uncle Vernon felt that he couldn't spare the time to pick Harry up, and Harry missed the bus because the headmaster wanted to meet with him about his participation in his classes.

"We take our curriculum very seriously at Kinselton. We need you to concentrate completely, Mr. Potter." The headmaster, Mr. Theodore, had said to Harry before turning back to his computer.

It took Harry a very long time to get to the Dursley's, mostly because his backpack was crammed with every single textbook he had.

The next day was hardly better. The second he walked into the school, a boy several times bigger than Dudley (which was an impressive feat) tripped him, took his backpack, and stole his lunch money. Harry glared at him, but did nothing because he knew that the boy would probably beat him up if he tried. He watched him strut off, Harry's money in his hand, while several smaller boys scurried out of the way.

"You have to watch out for him,"

Harry looked up, and saw another boy who was about fifteen years old standing next to him, offering Harry his hand. Harry took it, and the boy helped him up off the ground.

"Thanks," mumbled Harry, his face red and his feet sore.

"I'm Trevor," offered the boy. "Trevor McKinnon."

Trevor looked a lot like someone that Harry remembered. He had flaming red hair, freckles all over his face, and a small scar on his cheek.

"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry nervously, suddenly realizing how much bigger Trevor was than him, even though he was at least two years younger.

"Are you new or something?" Trevor questioned.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "How did you know?"

"You didn't know to stay away from Buddy," Trevor explained, shrugging. "He's the toughest guy here."

Harry nodded, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"So, what school did you go to last year?" asked Trevor.

Harry didn't know what to say. He searched his brain for the name of a nearby high school, but nothing came to his head. He blurted out the first word that came to his head.

"Dumbledore," he stuttered.

Harry was surprised. He didn't even know where that word had come from. Harry felt as though they were something out of a dream, and Harry knew they were probably part of his forgotten past.

Ron tapped his quill on his desk, sending ink flying across the room. He was writing his eighteenth letter to Harry, even though he knew that it probably hopeless. He'd tried everything he could think of (even convincing Hermione to apparate to the Dursley's house to try to find him). That was hopeless too. When she came back, she told him that the entire house was empty, almost ghostlike, as though it had been deserted for years.

_Dear Harry,_

WHERE ARE YOU? I know I've already written seventeen other letters, but could you please respond? What happened to you? Did you move or something, because Hermione said that your house was empty. Me and Hermione (and the rest of the wizarding world) are really worried. Did you know that you've had seven front page stories in the prophet, and nearly twenty aurors are looking for you????

_-Ron_


	3. Final Escape

Harry sighed, bored out of his mind. He'd only spent eight days at Kinselton, but it already felt like weeks, possibly months. Everyday, it was the same. Harry felt like screaming at his teachers, or at his classmates, or even at his aunt and uncle, because he did not want to stay where he was. He hated Kinselton, with its incredibly strict teachers, and it's incredibly large amounts of homework.

Of course, he never told anyone these thoughts, other than Trevor. Over the past days, he and Trevor had become close friends. He'd transferred to Kinselton during the middle of the last year, and he only had three friends other than Harry. John Weathers, Will Evers, and Tim Anderson all welcomed Harry into their "social group" with open arms. John was a small boy with short blond hair and big feet. Will looked big and tough, but he was really sensitive and he cried often. Tim was the youngest of all of them, and he was extremely smart, and a straight A student.

Harry's aunt and uncle treated him with every time he got home from school. Luckily for them, Harry had so much homework that he had to disappear into his cupboard to do it directly after supper. It took him so long that, by the time he finished, it was long past midnight.

It didn't matter, though. Harry almost always got the answers wrong when he was supposed to write them on the board. He just didn't understand the complex problems that were required.

His teachers were appalled at his lack of participation and knowledge of the schoolwork. Ms. Minerva even threatened to hold him back a grade until he pulled his grades back up.

Harry continued to fall behind, until Uncle Vernon cornered him during dinner, Harry's first semester report card in his hand.

"Do you care to explain this?" he asked, glaring at Harry.

Harry didn't understand why his uncle was so worried over Harry's failing grades. Dudley had barely even passed kindergarten.

"Sorry," muttered Harry, his face burning as Dudley snickered.

"Why are you so far behind your classmates?" Uncle Vernon grumbled.

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to tell any of his relatives about his memory problem for fear of thinking that he was any more trouble than he already thought he was.

Uncle Vernon had now caught the attention of Aunt Petunia, and they were both looking at him expectantly. Harry swallowed, and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"I…I," stuttered Harry. "I just have a hard time, er, keeping up."

Uncle Vernon raised his left eyebrow. "Keeping up?" he mouthed at Aunt Petunia in surprise.

Harry ignored both of them, snatched up the report card full of large red D's, and walked out of the kitchen.

It was only when he was back in his cupboard did he stop to consider _why_ his uncle was suddenly so interesting in his failing grades. Harry felt his brain twitch, and the sickly voice sunk into his thought for the first time in a while.

_"Your uncle does not care about you, or your pitiful grades,"_ sneered the voice with unnecessary harshness.

Harry's real thoughts began to argue against this strange voice, and Harry began to develop a headache. He rubbed his scar in pain

"Math is important to everyday life because…" Ms. Minerva lectured, oblivious to the fact that most of her class was ignoring her. 

Harry wasn't even paying attention. He'd realized days ago that all of Ms. Minerva's lectures followed the same plot: they were all about the importance of math in everyday life.

Instead, his mind was circulating around his lost memories. There were a couple of words and names that seemed to leak into his mind from somewhere else, and some of his many classmates and teachers reminded him…of others. As soon as he had these thoughts, Harry heard the voice begin to speak.

_"There is nothing familiar about any of them. You are hallucinating about you past."_ sneered the voice.

"No I'm not!" Harry cried aloud, arguing against the voice.

Harry waited for a response, but it was not the voice that answered.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up and saw Ms. Minerva standing almost directly above his desk. She gave him questioning glance.

"Never mind," he muttered hastily. "I was just thinking,"

She nodded, and walked back to her desk. She pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled furiously on it. She returned to Harry's desk and tossed the paper at him. Harry opened it slowly.

_Mr. Potter,_

__

I am disappointed in your poor behavior. I expect you in my office at three o'clock sharp to serve a detention. I am also meeting with the headmaster about your poor grades. We do not tolerate slackers at Kinselton.

_Sincerely, Ms. Minerva _

Harry sighed, and crumpled the note in his hand. Now, the voice was not only tormenting his brain, but it was now hurting his schoolwork as well.

When the final bell rang at two thirty, Harry knew that he was not going to go to see Ms. Minerva. In fact, he didn't care anymore that she probably hated him, and he didn't care that he was slowly becoming one of the worst students at Kinselton (Tim would be appalled).

He bypassed her office at a walk, than began to run. He ran and ran until he was out of Kinselton, out of the neighborhood, and far away from Ms. Minerva and the Dursley's. Admittedly, he'd never been the fastest runner during elementary school gym, but he'd never been the slowest either. After fifteen minutes of running, Harry slowed down to a walk. He walked for a few more minutes until he reached an abandoned playground. Harry stopped and sat on one of the swings, unsure of what to do next. He felt himself drift off to sleep.

_He was surrounded by an unfamiliar wood. A large, toadlike woman with an ugly wide smile walked behind him, brandishing a long stick towards him. In front of him was a girl with bushy brown hair, who was walking with an air of confidence. Behind him, the ugly woman jabbed him in the back with her stick, and he scowled at her. _

Harry felt himself awaken. He was drenched in sweat again, and his neck felt sore from sitting on the swing. It was very late at night. The moon shone brightly above him, and stars twinkled like little jewels in the sky. Harry got up off the swing and walked into the street, looking both ways to see if he recognized anything. He didn't, but he knew that he still had time to escape, as the Dursleys were probably unworried about his absence.

Without warning, Harry was thrown onto his back as a large bus appeared out of nowhere in front of him. It was bright purple, and upon its arrival, a man jumped out.

"Welcome aboard the Knight Bus." He said, puffing his chest out.

Harry stood up and looked around. The bus seemed to have just appeared, like _magic_.

The man coughed impatiently. "Please sir, if you have any luggage, set it here. If you don't, then kindly board the bus."

"Thanks," said Harry awkwardly as he stepped onto the bus.


	4. Hiding

Harry looked around the strange bus. It was full of beds, most of them full of strangely dressed people. The man who'd welcomed Harry onto the bus stepped up behind Harry and cleared his throat. Harry jumped.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," repeated the man dully, "My name is Sam Wesley, and I can help you with anything you need aboard this bus."

"Er, thanks," muttered Harry, relieved to finally be getting far, far away from the Dursley's.

Sam continued to look at Harry expectantly. Harry suddenly realized that the man expected Harry to pay him, and Harry remembered that he didn't have money.

"Er, how much is it?" Harry asked, hoping the fare wouldn't be too high.

"Two Galleons," Sam said crisply.

For a moment, the request seemed perfectly normal to Harry. Then his mind twisted into a knot and Harry was confused. _Galleons?_ Was Sam crazy?

"Excuse me?" Harry asked in what he hoped sounded like polite confusion.

Now Sam was looking at him as though Harry was the crazy one.

"Two Galleons," Sam repeated dully, as though he'd said it many times. "It's actually rather cheap."

Harry didn't know how to respond. Sam, however, obviously thought that Harry understood him, because he continued to talk conversationally.

"So where are you headed?" he asked Harry, although Harry could tell it was part of his job, not friendliness.

Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell Sam that he was happy where ever he was far away from the Dursley's and Kinselton for obvious reasons, so instead he tried to make up an excuse. He stuttered, until a thought popped into his brain.

"Er, where is the nearest inn?" he asked, hoping that the question didn't seem too absurd, and that Sam would know the answer.

Sam didn't seem to notice Harry's anxiety or confusion, because he answered promptly.

"The Leaky Cauldron. I think that they still have rooms available,"

Again, Harry's mind recognized the words at first, but again it twisted into confusion and worry. To hide his confusion, Harry just nodded instead of saying anything. Sam seemed to think that Harry's nodding was normal, because he called up to the driver.

"Leaky Cauldron!"

He then turned back to Harry, and cleared his throat once more.

"That'll be two Galleons," he repeated, holding his hand out, palm up.

Harry swallowed rather nervously, unsure of what to say in response to this. Suddenly, Harry heard the voice begin to speak.

_"Reach into your pocket. In it, you should find a twenty pound note. Give it to the man and apologize for having Muggle money,"_ directed the voice.

It was the same voice, but at the same time, it was different. It was the first time that the voice had actually tried to help Harry. Usually, it just insulted and jeered. In spite of himself, Harry took a chance and listened to the voice. He tentatively put his hand into his right pocket. A crumpled bill found his hand, and Harry sighed with relief. It must have been left over from his lunch, or was it? He cautiously handed it to Sam.

"Sorry for the Muggle money," he muttered apologetically, hoping that his words wouldn't seem too out of place.

Sam looked at the money as though it was very strange and unusual. "Muggle money…" he murmured faintly, as though he was stunned to see such a thing. "I haven't seen this in a while, it must be worth at a fortune."

He gave Harry a handful of silverish coins for change. Harry slipped them his pocket. Now Harry was beyond confusion, and getting a little worried. Why was Sam so strange? He used such unusual terms, like Galleon, Muggle, and Leaky Cauldron. Harry hadn't even heard a single one of the words before now…or had he? A tiny part in the very back of Harry's brain argued. He was sure that he'd heard all of those terms before. However, before he could bring the thoughts out, something else in Harry's mind pushed it away into nothing.

Harry sat down wearily onto the edge of one of the empty beds. Maybe everyone on this bus was so strange because it was a bus for foreigners, Harry told himself, although he hardly believed it was true.

"Oy!" called Sam from the front of the bus after a few minutes. "I didn't catch your name."

"Trevor," Harry answered automatically, although he was unsure of why he was hiding his name. "Trevor McKinnon,"

Sam nodded and scribbled the name down on a notebook that he took out of his pocket. After a few minutes of listening to Sam and the driver talk to each other, Harry felt himself slowly drift off to sleep.

After what seemed like only a few minutes (although it was really almost an hour), Harry felt his bed be shaken as though it was trying to wake him up.

"Trevor!" Sam called cautiously from the front, "It's your stop!"

Harry peered out the window to see a grimy looking pub out of the windows. It didn't look very appealing, but Harry decided to take a chance and see if there was somewhere that would take him in. The silver coins jingled in his pocket as he stepped off the train.

"Thanks," he muttered to Sam before he turned to face the dirty place that Sam had called the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry opened the door cautiously as he walked inside. More strangely dressed people crowded the building, and Harry felt a couple eyes turn to him. He flattened his hair over his strangely shaped scar so he wouldn't be too easily recognized. Harry wasn't sure why, but he felt the sudden urge to hide.

_"Keep your head down,"_ directed the voice, who seemed to be worried that Harry could be recognized as well.

Harry angrily rubbed his scar, which began to throb painfully. He didn't understand how the mysterious voice in his head could act so cruel, then so helpful and understanding now. The man at the counter looked suspiciously at Harry as he approached.

"Hullo," Harry muttered to the man at the counter.

The man didn't say anything, he just stared at Harry blankly and suspiciously.

"How much are rooms?" Harry asked, reaching into his pocket and fingering the silver coins that Sam the bus assistant had given him.

"That'll be one Galleon, and five Sickles," said the man.

Harry pulled the silver coins out of his pocket and put them on the counter. He had no idea if they were Sickles or Galleons, or even if the man would accept the strange silver coins.

_"Please help…"_ he though desperately to the voice inside his head, scarcely believing that he was actually pleading the evil voice for help. Luckily for him, the voice answered.

_"The silver coins are Sickles. There are seventeen Sickles in a Galleon, so you owe him twenty-two of them,"_ directed the voice.

Harry cautiously counted out twenty-two of the silver coins, and gave them too the man. He accepted them without a second glance, and Harry heard himself sigh with relief. He took his key to the room and trudged wearily up the stairs his room. As soon as he got there, he plopped down on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

_The woman was still following him, and she was still smiling her toadlike smile. The girl with the bushy hair ahead of him continued to walk deeper in to the woods, as he wearily trudged behind her. Suddenly, several horselike men jumped out from behind the trees. They had the body of horses, and the torsos of humans. Harry blinked in surprise, and took a step back. _

"Ron!"

Ron heard Hermione call him urgently from the common room. He thundered down the stairs and saw her standing directly at the bottom of the staircase to the boy's dormitory. She held up a newspaper and pushed it into his hands eagerly.

"Harry's been sighted!" She practically shouted into his ears. "The Aurors think they have a lead!"

She was so excited that she almost ripped the paper in half. Several people from around the common room flocked over to read the article as well. Harry's absence from the Wizarding World had been the main source of interest for the past few months.


	5. Almost Like Magic

She shoved the newspaper into his hands, and he stared at the cover in awe. Harry's face, complete with his scar, was stretched across the front of the Daily Prophet.** Harry Potter's Latest Sighting!**

Ron opened the paper eagerly, and began to read…

_Harry Potter, the seventeen year old wizard who is famous for surviving an attack from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has been sighted near London. A woman named Eileen Turner has filed a report, saying that she saw Potter at wandering the streets alone several nights ago._

"He was carrying a strange bag on his back while he was walking. I'd seen him at least once before doing the same exact thing, but I didn't realize it was him for a while," she reported to the team of Aurors that is currently investigating this month-old mystery. "Then he just stopped coming by."

"We are working as hard as we can to find him," commented the head of the Ministry of Magic Auror Office. "We hope to have a happy end to this mystery."

It has been foretold that Harry Potter is the only one who can vanquish He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The wizarding world is holding their breath as the next installment in the Harry Potter mystery is being solved.

Ron sucked his breath in as he turned the page and continued reading. Hermione jumped up and down behind him, trying to read over his shoulder, a hard feat to accomplish because he was almost a foot taller than her now.

When he was done, he turned to Hermione. "D-do you think they'll find him?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course, Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, who seemed overly gleeful. "Don't you see what this means?"

"What?" asked Ron, completely nonplussed at her attitude.

"He's okay! He's not lying around somewhere unconscious where no one will ever find him, or worse! He's alright!" Hermione exclaimed, a wide smile stretched across her face.

"Yeah," muttered Ron, whose thoughts were elsewhere. "It's kind of strange how he was just _wandering_. I wonder why he had a bag on his back?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "That's not important Ron!" she snapped, "What's important is Harry!"

"Oh yeah…right."

The common room was then interrupted by the arrival of a strangely snowy white owl. It landed in the middle of the room, then caught the sight of Ron and Hermione, and flew over to them.

"Hedwig!"

_"Harry…wake up!"_ called the voice, which sounded far away._ "I…er…you need to do something important __**now**__."_

Harry awoke with a start. The voice sounded urgent, as it continued.

_"You need to leave! There's danger around here,"_

Harry started to obey, and he climbed out of bed. Then, he suddenly felt rebellious. Instead of leaving, he climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

_"You need to leave…someone might recognize you!"_ the voice said urgently from somewhere behind Harry's mind.

"Recognize…me?" Harry asked aloud. "Why would any of these strange people recognize me? I-I'm nobody."

The voice didn't answer, and Harry was sure that he was progressing, and he was going to learn something important.

_"There is nothing important to know,"_ sneered the voice, and Harry heard a bit of anxiousness in its words._ "You just need to listen!"_

Harry stayed where he was. His forehead began to throb painfully like someone had hit him over the head with a large mallet. His vision blurred for a moment, and he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, the voice had stopped talking, and Harry saw something strange perched on the end of his bed.

It took Harry a moment, but then he recognized the snowy white owl from the locked bedroom at the Dursley's. It clicked its beak impatiently and stared at Harry's eyes. Harry felt something inside him jump.

_"You do not know this owl,"_ called the voice, but Harry could tell that it was urgently trying to make Harry believe it. Harry pushed the voice out of his mind and walked closer to the owl.

The owl screeched, and held out its somewhat scaly leg towards Harry. He saw a piece of parchment attached to the owl, and hastened to remove it, in case it was causing the owl pain.

As he cautiously took the paper off (the owl stood very still), he noticed that there was writing all over it.

_Dear Harry_ it began. Harry stared at the parchment. How on earth did this owl get a piece of paper that was addressed…to him?

_"Don't open it, Harry!"_ cried the voice desperately.

Harry ignored the voice, and pulled the rest of the paper open:

_Dear Harry,_

I couldn't believe it when Hedwig came through the window in the Gryffindor Tower! She looked very confused, and she didn't have any letters or anything for me. What happened to you? I've already written you several letters (about twenty actually), and you've already had twenty-one articles in the Daily Prophet. Some batty old witch said she saw you wondering around in London. What are you doing there? Have you gotten any of my other letters? Are you trying to escape from the wizarding world or something? Or are you searching for horcruxes? Please write me back, Hermione's really worried about you (and I am too, in case you didn't already guess that). She thinks You-Know-Who got you or something…

PLEASE, PLEASE WRITE BACK!

_From, Ron _

Harry couldn't do anything but stare confusedly at the letter. First of all, whoever had sent this (someone named Ron?) was worried about him, but why? Second, he used several strange terms that Harry didn't understand (What was a Hedwig, a Gryffindor, a Daily Prophet, Horcruxes, and a Hermione?). Harry set the letter down on the bed for a moment, and examined the owl that had delivered the letter.

Harry waited for a second, expecting the voice to try to cut his thoughts off and tell him otherwise, and he was surprised when it didn't utter a word.

"Hedwig?" he whispered slowly, reading the owl's name off the beginning of the letter.

It blinked at him, and Harry was almost sure that it had understood him perfectly. For some reason, however, it looked like it wanted something from Harry. But what?

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked it softly, knowing he was insane to try to talk to an_ owl_.

For an answer, it gave a soft screech in Harry's ear. Harry reopened the letter curiously, and began pondering the rest of it. Now that the shock had worn off slightly, Harry reread the letter, and tried to see if there was anything else hidden in it. He wondered who 'You-Know-Who' was, and why Ron didn't just write his name. Something about Ron seemed really familiar, and he wasn't sure if it was just his messy handwriting that resembled Harry's own, or if it was something else that Harry had forgotten.

A soft knock on the door woke Harry from his concerns and wonder about the strange letter. Harry walked over to the door and opened it cautiously. A small girl with pigtails stood behind him.

"I have a message for you," she said in a squeaky voice. She shoved a rolled up piece of parchment into his hands.

Harry opened it, and saw it was addressed to 'Mr. Thomas'.

"I don't think this is for me," he said, handing it back to her. "It is addressed to someone else."

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she examined it closer. "I'm supposed to deliver it to the room next door. Sorry!"

Harry watched her turn bright red before she ran over to the room next to Harry's and knocked on the door. He closed the door.

An hour later, he'd examined the letter from Ron a hundred times over, and it still made no sense to him. He began to develop a small headache, so he stowed the letter away in his pocket, put on his shoes, and walked out. Downstairs, there were more people in strange robes that didn't seem to see him at all. Harry felt very invisible. He followed somebody who looked like they knew where they were going, and walked out of the inn, the silver coins from Sam jingling in his pocket.

Once he was outside, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. His strange impulse to hide that he'd acquired the night before was halted; there were so many people packed along the street that there was little chance of_ anyone_ noticing him. In fact, nobody seemed to want to make eye contact with anybody else. They all walked along, seemingly scared of something.

The first store that Harry walked into was called 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands'. Harry walked in, intrigued by the strange name. Inside, a pretty girl with flaming red hair greeted him.

"My name is Heather, and I'm Mr. Ollivander's daughter, er, assistant. He's not here right now," she said very quickly. "I can see you're not a first year, so I don't really have to go through the speech, do I?"

Harry looked at her, hardly grasping what she was saying. "What do you sell here?" he asked, looking up at the boxes that lined all of the open wall space in the shop.

The girl gave him a funny look. "Wands of course!"

"Oh," Harry muttered, confused.

The girl nodded, then whipped a tape measurer out of her pocket and began to measure Harry. He was so busy staring at the walls that he didn't notice something strange: there was no one holding the moving measurer.

When she was done, the girl disappeared into the back room, then reappeared holding many boxes in her arms. She passed one to Harry, who opened it tentatively. He was expecting something big and flashy, and was heartily disappointed when he set his eyes on a plain stick wrapped in pink fabric.

He took it out and looked at her questioningly.

"Well, wave it already!" she said impatiently, as though Harry should have known to wave the stick in the air.

He obeyed, feeling quite silly, before she snatched it away from him, and passed him another from one of the other boxes she'd brought. He took the stick and waved it, but again she snatched it back. Harry was regretting ever walking into the strange store.

Again and again, it was the same process. After a moment or two, when Harry waved the sixth stick from the boxes, the girl didn't snatch it away. She smiled, nodded at Harry, and then snatched the stick away.

"That'll be seven sickles," she said, wrapping the stick in a box. "Everyone needs them now, so we've had to lower our prices since You-Know-Who…" she trailed off.

Harry's ears perked up at the words 'Sickle' and 'You-Know-Who'.

_"Don't buy that wand, Harry!_ cried the voice as Harry pondered over the meaning of the strange terms._ "It's just a worthless, useless stick!"_

Harry was fueled by the voice's obvious nervousness about Harry buying the stick, so he pulled seven silver coins out of his pocket and handed them to the girl. When Harry walked out of the shop, he felt proud, although he didn't know why.

About halfway back to the Inn, Harry noticed that everyone else had a stick stuck in their pockets, and nobody seemed to think this was the least bit strange. Harry felt the sudden impulse to do so as well, and walked back in to the Leaky Cauldron thoroughly exhausted, with a thin wand sticking out from his back pocket.


	6. Discover and Learn

Ron stared wearily out of the smudged window in the Gryffindor Common Room. His eyes were drooping, as they watched for any sign of movement in the cold outdoors.

"Still waiting for Hedwig, are you?"

Hermione's voice startled him, and he tore his eyes away from the window to look at her. She sat down beside him, and looked out of the window as well.

"I just don't get it…Harry seems to be avoiding us or something. I mean, why hasn't he written us back?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. I just don't know."

"And why hasn't he stopped to think that his two best friends are worried about him?" Ron asked, feeling his voice rising.

Hermione gave him a blank look, before shaking her head wearily. "I have no idea, Ron…"

"My sister's been worried sick! She thinks she'll never see him again!"

"Ron," said Hermione, "you need to stop yelling. Nobody can do anything about this!"

"AND EVERYONE IS WORRIED ABOUT HIM, AND HE'S JUST WANDERING AROUND IN LONDON!" Ron roared.

Hermione stared at him, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"Ron, I don't know where Harry is, or what he'd doing, but I'm sure that he's doing what he has to do. Maybe he_ can't_ tell us, or something important is hinged on the fact that he disappears from the Wizarding World," she stopped and looked at Ron wearily before continuing. "The point is, there is no use shouting about it. There is nothing we can do about anything right now. The best thing we can do is just to sit and wait."

Harry examined his new stick carefully. It was very, very plain. In fact, he could have found a stick just like it in the wood near the park in Little Winging. After he picked the stick up for the millionth time that day, he noticed a little piece of parchment sticking out of the box that he hadn't seen before.

_Thank you for buying your new wand. This wand was hand crafted at Ollivander's Wand Shop. This wand is twelve and a half inches, and is made of holly. Its core is Dragon Heartstring._

Tossing the parchment aside, Harry concluded that it was another part of the strange world that he'd just entered yet didn't know anything about. Harry had a very shrewd suspicion that there was something different about this world, something unusual and strange.

A strange sense of longing made Harry want to pick the stick back up. He following his impulse, and found the stick back in his hands. He looked at it for another couple of minutes. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that he'd seen stick like this before, that he'd_ owned_ a stick like this before.

_"No you haven't,"_ called the voice carefully, confirming Harry's suspicions.

He'd learned that anything the voice argued against was probably a true statement.

"What is this for, anyway?" Harry asked the voice aloud, hoping it might say something important by accident.

_"N-nothing,"_ stuttered the voice.

Harry stayed silent for a second, questions burning in his brain. He rolled the wand over in his hands, and held it like he'd seen another person on the street do.

"Abra Kadabra!" he said lazily, pointing the stick at a lamp in the corner.

It smashed to pieces in front of his eyes. Harry stared, hardly daring to believe his eyes. The stick in his hands quivered, and he tore his eyes away from the destroyed lamp to look at it.

Comprehension dawned on him, and he hardly let himself believe. All of his suspicions were true: there was something different about this world. It was a world…_of magic_.

_"No there isn't. It's just a…trick…"_ mumbled the voice, and Harry could tell that his thoughts were true.

_The half-horse, half-human creatures came closer to him. The toad lady pulled out a short, stubby stick very much like Harry's._

"Incarcerous!" she cried, pointing the stick directly at the creatures.

The closest creature cried out in pain as thick ropes appeared and began to wrap themselves around it.

Harry awoke with a start, and felt sweat on his face. He looked at his stick that was sitting on the bedside table, and picked it up. Feeling reckless, he pointed it at the chair in the corner.

"Incarcerous," he muttered, just as he'd seen the lady do.

Thick ropes, identical to the ones in his dream, materialized and began to wrap themselves tightly around the chair.

"_Amazing_," Harry breathed quietly.

He looked closer at the wand (now he was sure that it was not a stick, but a magic wand), and willed himself to remember more. He was sure that was what he was doing: remembering.

_The sky was dark and several creatures wearing long hoods glided closer to him. His breath felt icy in his chest, and he felt his happiness leave him. A lump on the ground whimpered, and Harry saw Dudley lying on the pavement._

Harry mustered his courage and the last bits of strength left in him. "Expecto Patronum!"

The creatures coming toward him stopped abruptly, and fell back as a beautiful white stag appeared from Harry's wand, chasing them away.

Harry blinked, trying to clear his mind. His hands felt clammy and raw, and he took several deep breaths, trying to restore warmth to his cold, terrified body.

He took the wand in his hand, and again pointed it at the same chair. "Expecto Patronum!"

The chair remained absolutely still, and nothing happened. Disappointed, yet not discouraged, Harry closed his eyes again and struggled to bring back another memory. It took a moment, but one came to his mind.

_An old man, with a long white beard and half-moon glasses, was leaning over a large goblet-like basin. Harry stood beside him, watching in wonder, as the man examined the basin in awe. He took a goblet out and dipped it into the basin. To Harry's surprise and nervousness, the man began to drink._

After a moment, the man shuddered, "Water…I need water…."

Harry nodded, and pulled out his wand. "Aguamenti!"

Harry blinked, and tried once more to clear his mind of the daydream. He picked his wand back up, and pointed it at the chair.

"Aguamenti!" he cried a bit more forcefully that he would have liked.

Water spurted out of the wand, sending the chair flying back against the wall. Harry tried to stop the quick flow of water, and found that he didn't know how to stop the water that was all over the small room. 

Frantically, he shook the wand. To his amazement and deep relief, the flow of water stopped. He dragged the blanket off the bed, and threw it on the floor, trying to mop up some of the water.

_'I should be writing this down,'_ thought Harry urgently,_ 'I don't want to forget any of it…'_

Harry pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket, and scribbled down the names of the spells that he'd already tried:

_Spells___

-Incarcerous (Ropes)  
-Expecto Patronum (?)  
-Aguamenti (Water)

_"You shouldn't be doing that!"_ called the voice urgently. "P-please don't t-try any more s-spells!"

Harry laughed, surprised at himself for being so brave and confident towards the voice. "Why do you care?"

_"I-I don't. It's just…"_ the voice trailed off.

Harry ignored the voice, and looked at the list he'd just made. "I wonder what other spells I can learn."

Harry had a sudden idea that he immediately liked: he could go back into the town. He made sure he had some money in his pocket, and he carefully locked the door before continuing downstairs.

The streets were almost as crowded as they were earlier. Harry made extra sure that he paid attention to anyone on the street that had a wand. Nobody near the inn had a wand, so Harry couldn't attempt to copy any spells. He stopped for a minute outside a shop called Flourish and Blotts.

_'What an interesting name,'_ thought Harry._ 'I wonder what they sell here.'_

Rather than waiting out on the street, Harry walked inside. It was a bookshop. There were books lining every wall, and there were tons of shelves, all of them covered with books. Harry wandered over to the front desk.

"I suppose you're here to buy some school books," said the man at the counter lazily. "They're over there."

Harry looked towards the shelf that the manager had pointed at, and walked over to it. Most of the books were about spells. Harry looked at them carefully, before pulling one off the shelf and looking at it.

**The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One**  
By Miranda Goshawk

Harry decided that the book was worth buying, so he brought the book over to the counter. "I-I'd like to buy this."

The man looked at Harry for a second, then looked at the book. "That'll be Six Sickles."

Harry reached into his pocket, and emptied its contents onto the counter. He only had eight more coins left, so he gave the man six.

"Where can I get more money?" he asked tentatively, knowing it was a stupid question.

The man surveyed him, unblinking. "Gringotts Wizard Bank."

Harry thanked the man, and walked out of the store, looking for the Wizard Bank.

_"Why are you going to the bank? Y-you don't have any money there!"_ interrupted the voice.

Harry ignored the voice, and continued down the cobble stone road, a slight smile on his face.


	7. An old Friend

Harry had no intention of going to the Wizard Bank, as he walked down the cobble stone road. He knew it would be a stupid idea, considering the fact that he had no money there. He also found several large gold coins on the road, and pocketed them. He could tell by the inscriptions on the front that they were money, because they were very similar to the inscriptions on the silver coins that he already had.

"Where should I go now?" Harry asked the voice under his breath, so no one around him could hear.

For once, the voice was silent. Harry smirked, knowing that he was being terribly annoying to the voice. Just the fact that he was fighting back made him feel stronger. Harry listened for a minute, and was pleased when the voice didn't make another sound.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a several terrified, high-pitched screams. He turned around quickly, his eyes searching for the source of the screams. The town was so crowded that, in spite of his efforts, it was impossible to see past the sea of people.

He shoved the people around him, trying to go towards whatever lay ahead of him. He was unsure of why he was running towards the screams, because all his life he'd been much more timid and shy. All Harry knew, as he ran closer and closer, was that he had to find out what was causing the screams of terror.

As he pushed and shoved through the crowd, Harry accidentally knocked over several people who were in his way. When he reached the end of the road, Harry saw a crowd of people running amuck, as wizards in long dark robes holding thin wands walked among them, shooting spells in every direction.

Harry pulled out his own wand, a rush a bravery running through him, and thrust it out in front of him. "Incarcerous!"

Ropes that materialized out of thin air instantly tied the cloaked man nearest to him. He let out a cry, and struggled to get out. Harry fell back, hoping the cloaked man's comrades wouldn't notice him…at least not yet. 

Retreating behind a nearby wall, he pulled out the spell book that he'd bought only an hour or so before, and opened it to a random page. Inside, there was a list of spells. Searching frantically, and glad he was hidden, Harry looked at the first spell that caught his eye: _Flipendo_.

Even though he had absolutely no idea what the spell would do to one of the cloaked men, Harry threw himself out from behind the wall, and thrust his wand forward.

"Flipendo!" he yelled with all of his might.

For a second, Harry thought that the spell hadn't worked. Then, he felt the air condense, and the cloaked wizards nearest to him were blasted into the air by a swift wind. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the air returned to normal. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and pointed his wand at the next group of cloaked men, muttering the spell under his breath. The effects weren't as drastic as the first time he'd tried the spell, but he wasn't disappointed. The entire group was knocked off their feet, and fell into the dust in a heap.

Startled, they looked around for the culprit of their misfortune, and they set their eyes on Harry. He instinctively took a large step back, barely avoiding the first out of a sea of spells heading his way. He ducked behind a corner, and began to run as fast as he could away from the men.

The spells were barely missing him, and most of them hit and smashed windows of the stores. Harry turned a corner, hoping to throw them off. He pointed his wand over his shoulder awkwardly, and began shouting all of the spells he could think of.

"Incarcerous! Flipendo! Aguamenti!"

Harry could hear the rush of wind and water together, as he turned another corner and continued to move quickly. He kept running, making sure that he avoided people on the street who were unaware of the danger behind him. When he was absolutely sure he'd lost the strange men in cloaks, he stopped, taking in deep breaths.

He hadn't realized how far away he was from the inn, and because he took so many turns, he had no idea where he was. He looked around, hoping to see something he recognized, but there was nothing in sight that he remembered. 

Trying not to panic, Harry began to walk quickly down the street he was on, wondering where he was. After a moment or two, he saw a row of little shops. After taking a look closer, Harry drew back. None of the shops had the cheery welcoming air that the shops in Diagon Alley had. In fact, all of them seemed to be saying,_ stay back and don't come near_. 

Harry wandered down the cold, uninviting road. There was no sign of any people anywhere, and Harry didn't blame them. He wouldn't want to spend his free time in on a street like this either. A battered, broken sign at the end of the street called it _Knockturn Alley_.

Harry began to feel extremely tired, so he sat down on a bench that was beside a huge pillar of stone. He wished that there was some way he could get back to the Leaky Cauldron, and be safe in his room. He screwed up his forehead in concentration, trying to 'magic' himself away.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Something was squeezing him into a giant rubber tube. He felt his lungs beg for air, and he gasped. As soon as he had the chance to panic, he felt the tube around him loosen. Harry blinked, and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

Somehow, miraculously, he ended up back in the Leaky Cauldron, just outside his room. Harry looked around cautiously, then looked at his wand in amazement. Not only could he perform magic spells, but he could also whisk himself away to any location!

"I love magic," muttered Harry happily under his breath, admiring the magic wand with an air of awe.

Harry opened the door to his room, and was surprised to see that a brownish owl was sitting on his bed next to Hedwig. She looked rather surprised herself, and Harry was pleased to see that the brown owl had a letter attached to its leg.

Harry walked over to them, and pulled the roll of parchment off its scaly leg, and hastened to open the letter from the unfamiliar owl. It was longer than any of Ron's letters, and the handwriting was much neater.

_Dear Harry,_

I know you are probably tired of getting messages, but I hope you'll read this if you get it. Ron told me that he and Hermione were sending you letters, so I thought I'd give it a try too, even though you haven't replied to any of them.

First of all, where are you? I'm really worried about you. I miss you a lot too. I we agreed that you weren't coming back this year, and that we weren't going to be together anymore, but I want to know that you're all right.

Sixth year is going fine. I received mostly O's and E's on my O.W.Ls in all of the practical subjects, and I got a P and a D in Divination and History of Magic.

The Quidditch team isn't the same without you. Ron is the captain of the team now, and Dean is playing Chaser for Katie Bell. A fifth year named Amy took over my place as Chaser, and I'm the new Seeker. We're just behind Slytherin for both the House and Quidditch Cups, but Ron is confident that we'll win the next match. I sure hope so, because if we win then we'll be in first place for the Quidditch Cup.

We have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her name is Professor Moonstone. She is nice, but extremely strict (kind of like Professor McGonagall). Once, I got something in my essay wrong, and took off half of my points! We also have a new Transfiguration teacher. His name is Professor Grainy. He is really meek, and he lets us do whatever we want. By the way, Slughorn is the new head of Slytherin.

If you could see Hermione, you would laugh. She's been studying like crazy trying to prepare for her N.E.W.T. test, and she's driving Ron crazy too. They are Head Boy and Head Girl. By the way, I am a Prefect now! I was really surprised, because usually Prefects are named in fifth year, not sixth.

McGonagall is the new Headmistress, and she seems a little stressed out. We hardly ever see her, except at meal times. 

Anyway, please write me back as soon as you can. I know Hermione told me not to worry, because you're probably fine, but it would be really nice if I got a response from you.

_Your Friend,  
Ginny_

While Harry was reading the letter from Ginny, he felt a different feeling in the pit of his stomach than he did when he read Ron's short letter. Ginny's letter, although he understood very little of it, made his stomach jump for joy at every word. Something about her letter was familiar to him, and something about her made him smile for the first time in the past few hours since his duel with the cloaked wizards.

"Who am I?" he whispered to no one in particular, "Why is this happening to me?"


	8. Missing

Harry lay on his bed exhaustedly, Ginny's letter lying next to him. The spell book that he'd bought in the store lie in front of him, and his eyes were glazed as he tried to memorize all of the spells in the book. Harry was amazed that there were so many in the book. He couldn't imagine how on earth he was supposed to know all of them.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the battered, broken chair in the corner. He flipped to a random page, and picked out a random spell:_ Reducto_.

Even though he had no idea what the spell did, and not bothering to look it up in the back of book, Harry raised his wand. "Reducto!"

The chair in front of him blasted apart. Within seconds, it was reduced to splinters on the floor. Harry jumped to his feet, surprised._ Reducto_ was definitely the most damaging spell that he'd tried so far. Sighing, he walked over to the corner and pointed his wand at the splintered pieces.

"Reparo," he muttered, using one of the few most helpful spells in the book.

The chair was returned to its original state, and Harry once again dwelled for a moment on the fact of how_ amazing_ this was. He made a note on his piece of parchment about _Reducto_, and flipped to another random page in his book. His parchment was almost full of spells, and he would soon have to find another scrap of parchment somewhere.

Another spell caught his eye, and he hastened to point his wand at the chair. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Nothing happened to the chair, and Harry was slightly surprised. All of the spells, excluding_ Expecto Patronum_, had worked for him. He'd been expecting it to work, because the book he found it in was so…reliable.

Caught by his interest in the spell, Harry decided that he'd revert to his old tactic for finding spells, in order to find out what_ Wingardium Leviosa_ did. Harry closed his eyes slowly, and braced himself for the new memory.

_He was in a bathroom that was covered in water, as well as shattered glass and wood. A tall, gangly red-haired boy with freckles crouched in the corner, picking up wood and throwing it at a large troll-like creature. A bushy, brown-haired girl hid frightened in the corner by a sink, screaming as the troll swung a club around the bathroom. Struck by a sudden pulse of courage, Harry ran and jumped on the troll's back. Surprised, it shook itself, trying to get Harry off._

The red-haired boy shivered, and Harry could see courage in his eyes. He took out his wand.

"Swish and Flick," the boy muttered under his breath, raising his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The troll attempted to swing the club again, but he found this hard due to fact that his club was suspended in place over his head. After a moment of hovering, the club fell, striking the troll on the head with a sickening thud. 

Harry shook himself until he was fully awake, and tried to recall what he'd just pulled from his mind. The red-haired boy had said specifically to "swish and flick" before he performed the spell. Harry silently swished and flicked his wand identical to the way the red-haired boy had.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry shouted louder than he meant to, while making sure he swished and flicked.

The chair rose a couple of feet off the ground, and hovered there. Harry smirked, glad that he'd figured out the spell. After a moment or two, the chair crashed to the floor, landing on its side. Harry continued to flip through the book, and after another hour or two, he concluded that he'd learned enough spells for the day.

Harry picked up Ginny's letter slowly, and reread it. Even though he knew that there was absolutely no way for him to get it to her, he pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing her a letter. However, to his great disappointment, he found this absolutely hopeless. Not only did he know nothing about Ginny, Ron or Hermione, but he knew almost nothing about himself as well.

_"Trying to write a letter, are we?"_

Harry groaned out loud. He'd been so used to nothing in his brain except his own thoughts, and he was extremely and thoroughly miserable at the sound of the voice's sneer.

"That's none of your business!" Harry snarled, anger in his voice and words.

_"You don't even know who you are, do you?"_ sneered the voice, amusement and disdain clean its voice.

"Why don't you just tell me then?"

The voice was silent for a moment, then spoke in a softer, more gentle voice, _"I-I can't, I won't!"_

Harry felt that he was breaking beyond an important barrier, so he pondered his next words carefully. "I need to know,"

The voice seemed to be pondering over what Harry had said, and Harry was surprised when the voice whispered quickly and meaningfully to him. _"There is something you need to know…"_

Harry listened intently, slightly taken aback by the sudden turn of events. There was a noise like a plunger being removed from a sink, and the voice gave a startled cry before going silent.

"H-Hello?" Harry called out, aware that no one could hear him. "What do I need to know?"

There was no answer.

After several minutes of silent listening, Harry concluded that the voice was no longer speaking to him. He decided to stop dwelling on the voice and his lost memories, and he trudged downstairs to the main lobby. Upon his arrival, he walked over to the barman at the counter.

The barman gave him an irritated glance, as though talking to Harry would be most painful. Harry gave him a weak smile.

"Do you know anything about Harry Potter?" Harry asked directly, having no idea what on earth prompted him to ask such an unusual question.

The barman seemed perfectly unperturbed by the question, and he pulled a newspaper out from under the counter and tossed it at Harry. "Of course I do. I'm surprised you don't. He's only had more cover stories than any other living boy." He spoke very quickly, as though he was tired of talking to Harry already.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd had more cover stories than any other living boy? But-But why would anybody care about _him_?

Harry took the newspaper, thanked the barman, and wandered over to an empty chair to read it. He was stunned by the front-page article:** Harry Potter Now Missing For Several Months**.

Stunned and astounded, Harry read through the rest of the article. But who had told the paper that he was missing? Surely not the Dursleys? Harry stared at the cover of the paper, and at his face, which occupied the front. There was something about his portrait on the newspaper that was different. He recognized himself only after a moment of hesitation, even though his traits were exactly the same. Harry wandered over to a mirror, and stared at his reflection. What he saw was himself, but there was something changed about him.

After a moment or two of reading and rereading the paper, Harry noticed something he hadn't caught sight of before: the pictures were moving on their own accord. Several of the pictures of himself were grinning awkwardly, and the other pictures of strange creatures and humans alike were doing various activities in the pictures.

Harry groaned inwardly, and stuffed the paper in his pocket. This was going to be more complicated than he thought. Every time he searched for answers, all he received were a thousand more dead end clues.

"Ronald Weasley!"

Ron sat up in his bed at the sound of his full name. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, and looked up at his sister, Ginny, and Hermione. Both of them were glaring at him, and Ginny had her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of Mrs. Weasley's signature scowl.

"What?" he asked them both, wondering why on earth they woke him so late at night.

In response, Hermione pointed her wand at the curtains. They pulled themselves open, filling the room with bright sunlight. Ron blinked.

"It's already noon!" smirked Ginny, "Everyone else in your dormitory is already up!"

"Why didn't anyone wake me?" Ron gaped, "I'm late for all of my classes!"

Hermione frowned at him. "Didn't you know it's the weekend?"

Ginny smirked at Ron, but then her eyes wandered over to the empty, neatly folded bed next to Ron. It was Harry's. Ginny felt her eyes well up with tears, and she hastened to wipe them away before Ron could see her cry.

"We're going after him," Ginny muttered just loud enough for Ron to hear.

Ron gave her a confused look, so Hermione continued, "You know we have to, Ron. Besides, we can both Apparate now, so we shouldn't have any trouble getting around."

Ron seemed lost for words for a second, then he gaped at Hermione. "But-But how? I mean, we can't just leave! If the Aurors can't find him, how are we going to? Besides, I thought you said that Harry didn't_ want_ to be found."

"I think we'll have a better chance now. After all, we know Harry better than anyone," Hermione glanced at Ginny. "And I think that even if Harry doesn't want to be found, we should go after him to make sure he's safe."

"All right," said Ron in a defeated voice, "When are we leaving?"

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, and answered together, "Tonight. Now pack your bags!"

"But how are we going to carry our things?"

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Ron. I'm going to bewitch the bags to be feather light."

"And how are we gong to get out of here? There's a ton of security, and you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts!" Ron looked smugly at Hermione, obviously pleased that he remembered.

Ginny rolled her eyes at Ron in annoyance. "We'll take our brooms until we get to the front gate. Then we'll Apparate,"

Ron nodded. "Where are we going to start looking?"

"We thought we'd try Diagon Alley," said Hermione nervously.

"Diagon Alley! Harry's not going to be wandering around in plain sight!" Ron laughed in spite of himself.

"But someone there might have some idea of where he is, or where he's been. I doubt that he's been away from human contact completely, so we're most likely to find out_ something_ about where he is."

"What will we tell Mum and Dad?" Ron asked Ginny, "Are we going to leave notes or something, because they'll be nervous about both of us leaving."

"Since when are you so sensitive to other people's feelings?" said Hermione smugly.

Ginny pretended to ignore her, but Ron could see her smirking, "We'll make sure we leave them notes."

"All right," said Ron.

Harry sat on his bed and gazed lazily out of the smudged window. He wished that there was some way for him to figure out what happened to him. He wished that there was some way for him to figure out exactly what kind of magic he could use. He wished he could figure out what was really happening, and why it was happening to him. He wished that he could find out who he was.

His eyes wandered over to the crumbled letter by the rubbish letter. It was the letter he'd tried writing to Ginny. He ripped off a corner of it, and began to scrawl a quick note.

_Dear Ginny,_

I'm fine. I'm at the Leaky Cauldron. Please don't worry about me. Tell Ron and Hermione not to worry either. 

_From, Harry_

He knew it was short, and hardly told anything important, but he felt that he needed to tell Ginny that he was all right, that he was okay. He folded the letter neatly, and walked over to Hedwig. She blinked and snapped her beak, screeching loudly.

"Bring this to Ginny," murmured Harry, even though he knew it was absolutely no use talking to an owl. "Make sure she knows I'm fine."

Hedwig blinked twice, and for a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that she'd understood him. He opened the window, and she screeched again. Then she spread her wings, flapping widely, and soared out the open window. Harry waved after her, feeling the last drops of hope restored in him. If there was any way to find out what had happened to him, he knew that Ginny was his last hope.

As he watched Hedwig soar away, he wondered why he trusted Ginny more than he trusted Ron. After all, Ron had sent him a letter first. Harry guessed that his trust in Ginny was some remnant of a memory that he'd lost. After a few minutes, Harry felt himself fall asleep.

_He raced through the air on a nimble broomstick. He could feel the air rush past him. Blood was pounding in his ears as lightning flashed above him. Thunder split the sky, and he felt the joy of flying run through him._

He swooped and dove around a huge arena, which had thousands of fans yelling from the stands. He looked down at himself, and saw that he was wearing a long scarlet robe. The arena had at least fifteen people flying around on broomsticks, all of them either wearing robes identical to Harry's, or mustard yellow robes.

A quick flying golden ball with silver wings fluttered in front of his face. He tried desperately to catch it, trying to see past the storm of rain that surrounded him. His glasses were fogged something terrible, blocking just about everything that wasn't within two or three feet from his face.

Suddenly, the happiness was sucked out of the air. He gasped quickly for breath, and found that he could hardly breathe. His breath felt icy and it made little clouds of air whenever he let out a breath. Dark figures in long hoods swooped around him, making the air colder and more distant.

He could hear screams in the distance. It was a woman, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. He could hear her as though she was directly next to him, and every time she screamed, his blood ran cold.

The black figures came closer, and the screams rang louder in his ears. The air was swallowing him up, and he felt himself loose consciousness. He was falling…down…down…down…

Screams from the woman inside his head mingled with the screams of the spectators and echoed in his ears as he plummeted towards the ground, his broom close behind him. 

Harry awoke suddenly, feeling extremely clammy and cold. He was sprawled out on his bed, once again drenched in sweat. He breathed in the air around him as though it was comforting and warm. He pulled his blanket over his head.

_Knock, Knock _

Harry vaguely recognized that someone was at the door. He pulled himself out of bed, and wiped some of the sweat off his forehead. He stumbled over to the door and pulled it open slowly. There was no one behind the door. Harry looked around the hallway. It was only after he looked down that he realized that there was an envelope on the floor directly behind his door.

Harry bent down to pick it up, and he glanced up and down the hallway one last time to make sure that there wasn't anybody there. When safely back in his room, he tore the top of the envelope of, and dumped its contents onto his bed.

A long letter fell onto his bed, and Harry hastened to pick it up. Wondering why on earth it didn't arrive from an owl, he unfolded it slowly. It was a long bill, detail on all of the dues he had to pay for his room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry sighed loudly. He set down the letter, and as he did, a note fell out from behind it:

_**Withdraw from Gringotts Bank**___

If you would like to withdraw from Gringotts Bank in order to pay for this purchase, please fill out the appropriate form. Your money should be mailed to you by owl immediately upon its acceptance. 

Harry's eyes traveled down the form, and he hastened to find something to write with among his few possessions in the room. He made sure he filled out everything on the note.

He knew it was stupid to request money from a Wizard bank, but he had a very shrewd suspicion that he actually did have money there. In fact, the only reason he believed that was because the voice said that he _didn't _have any money there.

He also knew he was taking a slight risk. If for some reason, the Dursleys wanted him back, he didn't want to make it too easy for them to find him again. He'd promised himself when he escaped that he was never, ever going back to the Dursleys, and he was never going back to Kinselton.

Since Hedwig was out delivering his letter to Ginny, he was forced to go back down to the lobby to mail the letter. It was getting to be quite late at night, so he walked quietly down to hall, so he wouldn't wake anyone who was sleeping in their room.

It didn't take him long to get downstairs, and he didn't want to disturb the barman again, so he stopped a friendly looking woman.

"Where can I mail a letter?" he asked.

"Just down the road at Eeylops Owl Emporium. They sell owls and you can rent some of the owls to send mail. I suggest that you buy your own owl if your going to be mailing a lot of stuff though," the woman smiled at him, and continued on her way.

Harry spent the rest of the evening at the Owl Emporium, and after mailing his letter and examining some of the foreign owls, he set off for the Leaky Cauldron.


	9. Reunion

_Dear Ginny,_

I'm fine. I'm at the Leaky Cauldron. Please don't worry about me. Tell Ron and Hermione not to worry either. 

_From, Harry _

Ginny felt a cold, stinging tear run down her face as her desperate eyes scanned over the scrap of paper that an owl had brought to her only moments before. She touched her hand to her heart, feeling it thump quickly and lightly against her chest. It was incredible to her how Harry could be missing for so long and now suddenly sent her a letter out of the blue.

She almost didn't care that it was incredibly short, and that it didn't say anything important, other than his location and the fact that he was perfectly fine. She wanted to cry with happiness, but her tears made a lump catch in her throat. She sat up, and looked around the makeshift tent that Hermione had conjured up for the girls to sleep in for the night. Ron was in a much smaller tent next to them, and Ginny could hear him snoring loudly, even though he was several yards away.

She looked down at Harry's letter again. It struck her as odd that Harry would choose to send such a vital letter so late at night. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe she'd wanted a letter from Harry so bad that she was dreaming about actually getting one.

Ginny attempted to shake Hermione awake, a feat that proved hard because Hermione was such a deep sleeper.

"Psst! Hermione!" Ginny whispered.

Hermione rolled over and opened her eyes slowly. "What?"

"Harry sent me a letter!"

At the sound of the word 'Harry', Hermione sat up quickly. "Harry sent you a letter? Ginny, that's fantastic! What did it say?"

"Dear Ginny," Ginny read tentatively, as though reading the letter out loud would somehow make her believe that she'd just made it up, "I'm fine. I'm at the Leaky Cauldron. Please don't worry about me. Tell Ron and Hermione not to worry either. From, Harry."

Hermione beamed, "That's great, Ginny! That means he's okay!"

"Yeah," said Ginny, "I wonder why he hasn't written back to us before now. It's kind of strange that he'd write to us so late at night."

"Maybe…" Hermione said slowly, "Maybe it's not from Harry."

Ginny looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean? Of course it's from Harry!"

"Not necessarily. Anyone could have sent that letter!" Hermione said reasonably, "A Death Eater in disguise could be trying to lure a team of Aurors to the Leaky Cauldron. Or they could be trying to lure us there."

"Lure us there? Hermione, what would a Death Eater want with us?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"Well, Malfoy knows about you and Harry. You and Harry being together, I mean. And it's no secret that Ron and I are Harry's best friends. He could have told Voldemort." Hermione glanced at Ginny apologetically before continuing, "He's not stupid, and he knows Harry well enough to know that if he held us hostage, Harry would do anything to save us."

Ginny took a deep breath. "But if it is Harry who sent this letter, he's not going to like it if we bring a troop of Aurors with us. He sent us this letter because he wants us to know he's okay, that he's fine doing whatever it is he needs to do. Like you said before, Harry probably disappeared from us because he has to do something to win the fight against Voldemort. After all we are at war, Hermione."

"Well then what do you think we should do?" Hermione breathed.

"I don't know. You should think of something, Hermione. You're the smart one." Ginny pointed out. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ginny could tell she was pleased. "Maybe we should go by ourselves, just to make sure it actually is Harry. We can always Apparate away if we see any sign of danger."

"But I don't have my Apparating license!" said Ginny, "I'd have to rely on being able to hold onto you for Side-Along."

"If push comes to shove, would you be able to Apparate alone?" asked Hermione cautiously, "Could you try?"

"I don't know!" said Ginny nervously, "I haven't even been able to get more than halfway across the room in Apparation lessons!" 

"Well it is worth a try," muttered Hermione, "I only hope that if it is a trap, that Harry will know not to come after us."

"I hope he will too," mumbled Ginny, although she was secretly hoping inside her that he'd come to her aid if she was ever captured. She brushed this thought away as soon as she thought it, and silently reprimanded herself for being so selfish.

"The Leaky Cauldron isn't far from here," said Hermione, "so we shouldn't have any problem Apparating."

Ginny nodded, "We should leave right away. If we wait to long, he might not be there anymore!"

"Ginny, relax," said Hermione, "I doubt Harry is going to leave before we get there. Besides, it's almost four o'clock in the morning. You should get some sleep. Don't worry about Harry, if he even really did send that letter. He'll be fine."

Ginny paused, trying to think up a good argument. When she couldn't think up a suitable reason as to why they shouldn't wait until morning, she plopped herself back into her blanket. Before she went to sleep, she carefully laid the note from Harry onto the ground beside her. The soft sounds of owls hooting outside mixed with the obnoxious snores of her brother, and slowly lulled her to sleep.

Just before her eyes closed, she heard Hermione yawn, "We should tell Ron in the morning."

Several hours later, when the sun had finally risen, Ginny opened her eyes again. She could hear Hermione's gentle breathing and Ron's loud snores, so she concluded that she was the first one awake.

Stepping out into the bright sunlight, Ginny smiled as the sun warmed her face. Everything suddenly seemed happy and bright as Ginny realized that she had a very real chance of seeing Harry again, for the first time in several months.

"You're up already?"

Ginny turned around, and saw Hermione stumble sleepily out of the tent.

"I couldn't sleep very well," Ginny answered, "I was up almost all night, thinking."

"After we eat breakfast, we should pack up and leave," said Hermione, as her stomach growled.

Ginny smiled wider, and Hermione beamed. Just then, a very disgruntled looking Ron emerged from out of his tent. His hair was sticking out wildly in every direction, and he was only wearing one sock. Hermione beamed at the sight of him, and Ginny dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"What?" he asked, looking at Ginny with distaste.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, refraining from laughing.

"Why do you two look so happy all of a sudden?" demanded Ron grumpily.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged looks, and Ginny reached into her pocket for the crumpled letter from Harry. She pulled it out slowly and gave it to Ron. It took him a moment to realize what he was holding, but when he did his eyes opened wide.

"It-It's from Harry!" he said, trying to suppress his surprise and happiness, "He's okay!"

Ginny beamed happily, "We're going to the Leaky Cauldron to meet him."

"Excellent," said Ron, no longer irritable. "When are we leaving?'

"After we eat," answered Hermione, gesturing at the plates full of food that she'd just conjured up.

Ron and Ginny hastened to gobble down their food as fast as they could without spilling it. When they were both finished, they looked at Hermione expectantly.

"Oh, all right," she muttered, drawing out her wand, "Evanesco."

The tent and all of their belongings disappeared flawlessly into thin air. Hermione gave a satisfied smirk.

"Can we go now?" asked Ron cautiously, a hint of anxiousness in his voice. "I mean, what if he's not there when we get to the…where was it again, Ginny?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," said Ginny promptly, "and don't worry, Ron, I'm sure Harry will still be there when we arrive."

Hermione smirked, and then nodded her head, "Ginny's right, Ron. We could be there soon, as soon as you're ready."

"We'll be Apparating then?" asked Ron.

"Yes of course, what did you think we'd be doing in this weather, flying?" said Ginny sarcastically, "Really Ron, why don't you ever stop to use your brain once in a while?"

Ron frowned at Ginny and Hermione earnestly. "All right, let's go."

Ginny grabbed Hermione's arm, and the three of them disappeared with a small pop. A second later, Ginny and Hermione found themselves just outside the Leaky Cauldron. Taking several deep breaths, they both looked around for Ron, who was nowhere in sight.

"I wonder where Ron went?" Hermione asked anxiously, looking around, "I hope he didn't splinch himself."

Ginny privately thought that there would be nothing better, but she decided to keep this to herself, due to the fact that she knew about how Hermione fancied Ron. Meanwhile, Hermione was getting panicky, and she began to look around at people walking down the street as though she hoped one of them would be Ron.

"Maybe we should go inside," said Hermione, "He could have apparated directly inside, or maybe he's at the Diagon Alley entrance."

"Yeah," mumbled Ginny, "but I'm sure he'll be here soon. Maybe we should go find Harry."

"Okay," said Hermione, "But remember, Ginny, we need to make sure it actually is Harry before we say _anything_."

"And just how do you plan on doing this?" demanded Ginny.

"We should ask him a question that only Harry would know," said Hermione.

"Like what?"

"Like what form his Patronus takes, or what his birthday is, or what spell he used in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament,"

Ginny nodded, "Where exactly do you think he'll be?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, "Perhaps he's renting a room. We could try asking for him at the front desk."

"I don't think that would work," pointed out Ginny, "I mean, what would _you_ say if two girls arrived and started asking for a famous missing wizard?"

"I see what you mean," Hermione muttered.

"Well there's no use just standing here. We might as well go inside," said Ginny reasonably.

As soon as they set foot inside the grimy looking inn, Ginny's attention was drawn to a tall, gangly boy with red hair. "I told you he didn't get far," she said to Hermione.

Hermione waved her hand at Ron, and he smiled and walked over. Then the three of them looked around together, trying to find Harry. Just then, Hermione realized that Ginny was staring at the corner intently, and remained so for almost five minutes before Hermione turned her gaze to see what on earth she was staring at. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment, all was wiped from her mind.

"Harry!" shrieked Ginny, her voice echoing throughout the inn.

A tall, skinny boy with rounded glasses and messy hair looked up from the table in the corner. He looked tired and meek, and Ginny hardly recognized him. He looked up at the sound of his name, and he looked around for the source of the shriek. Ginny lost all thought of everything else, and she ran towards him as fast as she could, followed closely by Hermione and Ron.

Harry looked up at the girl that had called out his name. She was very pretty, with bright brown eyes and flaming red hair. A girl with bushy brown hair and a boy with flaming red hair to match the first girl's hair followed behind her.

"Hello?" he asked politely, having no idea who these people were and wondering why they were bothering him.

"I-I just can't believe we've found you! Where have you been all of this time? I mean, I got your letter and everything, but I wasn't expecting you to actually be here!" the first girl squealed.

Harry looked at her in confusion for a moment, before comprehension dawned on him. "Ginny?" he asked quietly.

She nodded quickly, and he turned to stare at the other two. "Ron? Hermione?"

They both nodded, and Harry felt happiness and sadness surge through him at the same time. With a sudden jolt, Harry realized that they didn't know that he didn't really remember them at all.

"I-I have something I need to tell you," he said slowly, and waited for all three of them to realize he was trying to speak. "I don't remember any of you. I know I should, but I don't. Something strange happened to me at the beginning of the summer, and I can't remember anything up until now since the time I was about ten years old," he paused to take a breath, "And that's not it. Strange stuff has been happening to me. Like the fact that I can do magic. I know that sounds weird but it's true. I bought a wand in the town and now I can do things that would normally be impossible."

Silence followed Harry's speech, and the three of them looked at him like he was mad.

"Hang on," said Ron slowly, "How do we know you're really Harry? You could be a Death Eater in disguise. After all, it would be a good cover-up. You could be waiting for us to lead you inside Hogwarts!"

"Harry," said Hermione sharply, "When is your birthday?"

"July 31," said Harry quickly, wondering what a Death Eater was. "I was born in 1980."

Hermione gave Ron a satisfied look, "That's the best we can do until we get him to McGonagall."

Ron looked at Harry suspiciously. "Are you being serious?" he asked.

Harry nodded, "I know it sounds like a far fetch, but it's the truth. I'm not even really sure how I got here, but I took a bus after I ran away from school."

"School?"

"Kinselton. It was terrible there."

After a moment, Harry realized that Ginny hadn't said a word yet. "Ginny?"

"So you don't remember me?" she asked weakly, "You don't remember…_us_?"

Harry shook his head, "I'm sorry, Ginny. Really, I am."

"No," she said quietly, sounding as though she was on the verge of tears, "It's okay. I understand."

Harry tried to think of something comforting to say, but found he didn't really know exactly how to comfort Ginny. Instead, he turned to Ron and Hermione.

"Does anyone care to tell me exactly what's going on?" he asked.

"It's kind of a long story," Hermione nodded.

Harry felt his spirits rise at the thought of finally discovering exactly who he was.


	10. the point of no return

Hermione looked nervously at Ron, who nodded, before clearing her throat and taking a deep, long breath.

"I know this is going to be a lot to take in," she said exasperatedly, "but try to understand that it's the best that I can do."

Harry nodded slowly, waiting for her to begin the story of his life. Something inside his heart leapt, and he felt truly happy for the first time in awhile.

"I guess you already know this, but you're a wizard, Harry. We, all four of us and about one thousand other kids, go to a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This would be your seventh year there, if you'd come this year, which is the last year at Hogwarts. I-I don't know for sure if you know this but you're famous for surviving an attack from the darkest wizard of all time. Not to mention, you rescued the Sorcerer's Stone, you saved Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, you rescued Sirius from the Dementors, you won the Triwizard Tournament, you saved us all in the Department of Mysteries, and you helped Dumbledore find that fake Horcrux."

Harry creased his brow in confusion, but didn't say anything. Hermione took a moment's pause, before she spoke again.

"I don't know what the Dursleys told you about your parents, so I'm going to try my best to explain everything I know. It all started when you were one year old. Your parents, Lily and James Potter, fought Voldemort, a dark wizard who used to be named Tom Riddle. On Halloween, he broke into your house and….and killed them. It was really terrible, and your house was in shambles, but you survived. You weren't supposed to, but you did. When Voldemort tried to curse you with_ Avada Kedavra_, the Killing Curse, it somehow bounced off you and hit him. But he couldn't die, so he just sort of turned into a…I don't know what exactly. Dumbledore used to say that he was less than a ghost, but still alive somehow."

Harry sat through the rest of the story of his life as still and stiff as a board. Not wanting to coax any new memories out of his mind during her speech, he also made sure he didn't dwell on any of the facts or even try to remember any of them. Even just trying to remember his real family or real past could cause him to have another memory vision.

He sat and watched as Hermione stuttered and stumbled over the most painful of the parts, like Sirius and Dumbledore's deaths, while Harry didn't feel any pain at all from her words. He sat and watched as Hermione shuddered every time she spoke about Voldemort, or the Prophecy that had marked Harry as 'The Chosen One'.

Almost a full two hours later, Hermione was finished with the story of Harry's past. He felt his head spinning, and he tried to grasp all of what she'd said. Both Ron and Hermione looked at him, and he tried to say something but found he didn't have any words to say. Ginny remained silent, and Harry felt sorry for her. The most awkward part of Hermione's story was the part where she'd told him about him and Ginny.

According to Hermione, he'd broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral for some reason. Harry would have suggested that she ask Ginny, but Ginny seemed to be purposely avoiding all of their eyes. Harry also noticed Ron turn a little red.

"Harry?" said Hermione softly, abruptly waking Harry from his thoughts. "Are-Are you okay? You look a little…sick."

"I'm fine," said Harry, although he felt a little bit dizzy. "I'm just a little–"

"–shocked?" finished Ron, who sounded a little flabbergasted himself.

Harry nodded, and smoothed his hair over his scar impulsively. He stole a glance at Ginny, who still looked lost in thought.

"So…what now?" asked Harry slowly, "I mean, where are we going to go? _Is_ there anywhere for us to go?"

"Well, it's almost the Holiday break, so we might as well go home," said Hermione slowly, "Because I doubt that you'd be able to handle school at the moment."

Harry nodded. He didn't even want to think about the prospect of having to return to his old school, at least not until he got his memory back. This thought made another question pop into his head.

"Do any of you understand what happened to me? Is there anyway for me to magic my memory back?" he asked tentatively, dreading their answer.

"I'm pretty sure that someone cast a Memory charm on you, although the effects of yours is different. Only a powerful or very skilled wizard could have cast it perfectly so that you only remember up to the time you were ten years old. And I don't think it was by accident. Someone is trying to sabotage you, and the war against Voldemort." Hermione said slowly, pondering his question. "As for getting your memory back, I'm not really sure what can be done. It may be possible for you to get some of it back, but it might be hard to get all of it back. You may just have to rely on our memories for your past."

Harry nodded as he listened carefully to his fate. Somewhere, in the bottom of his stomach, he knew that he probably would not get his memory back. His heart sunk lower than it had been since he'd met Hermione, Ron, and Ginny.

"So basically I'm stuck like this for awhile." said Harry glumly after a moment or two.

Ron nodded. "Cheer up, Harry. We'll get you to Mum, and she can contact McGonagall. There are lots of great wizards in the world, I'm sure someone knows how to return a memory."

"Shall I go get my things then?" Harry asked, not wanting to spend another moment in the bleak inn. "I don't have much, just a wand, some clothes, and an owl."

"Well then," said Hermione, "we can leave as soon as you're ready."

Harry felt strange walking to his room, knowing it would be the last time that he'd do so. It was amazing to him how he woke up thinking it would be another boring, uneventful day. It only took him less than ten minutes to get everything he owned together, and when he was done, he dragged it back down to the main lobby.

"How exactly are we going to get there?" he asked once he was back at the coffee table. "I mean, before I found away to magic myself away, but I don't think I could do it again. It was like being suffocated alive." he shuddered.

"You probably Apparated," smiled Hermione smugly, looking at Ron. "And I think that is the way we'd be getting there. But don't worry, you can do side-along with Ron."

"I just hope I don't splinch myself," muttered Ron under his breath, just barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry almost asked him what splinching was, but he had a strange suspicion that he didn't really want to know.

"You ready?" asked Hermione briskly, pulling out a long, thin wand. 

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny nodded. Ginny stood, her eyes avoiding Harry, and grabbed Hermione's arm. Hermione looked at Harry, and he hastened to grab Ron's arm as well.

The strange sensation of being squeezed by a thousand rubber bands ran over him again, and he held his breath in for as long as he could. After a second or two, although it felt like several minutes, Harry felt he could breath again. The air felt good and fresh in his lungs, unlike the smoggy air around the inn.

They were outside a shabby but comfortable looking home, which was quite alone in the middle of a wooded field area. Ron and Ginny looked much happier at the sight of house, and Harry guessed that they lived there when they were not at the Wizard school.

"Shall we go inside?" asked Ron eagerly, and Hermione nodded.

Harry found himself slightly nervous and unconfident as he walked towards the house, and he hung back behind the rest of the group as they plowed ahead. Ron boldly pushed open the door, and walked inside.

"Mum it's me!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. "Ginny and Hermione are here too….and a surprise!"

A plump woman who had the same red hair as Ron and Ginny appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, and for a moment Harry thought she looked quite surprised.

"Ronald! Don't shout like that, you gave me a fright!" she exclaimed, although Harry noticed she looked happy to see them. "Don't you ever even _think_ about just leaving like that! I've been worried sick about you!" 

Ron looked awkwardly at Hermione when Mrs. Weasley embraced both him and Ginny in a wide hug. When she was finished, she gave Hermione an equally wide hug. Hermione stepped aside, revealing Harry, and Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek that matched Ginny's.

"Harry! You're here! Where on earth have you been all this time?" she exclaimed, pulling him into a somewhat awkward hug. "We've been worried sick!"

"I…" Harry mumbled, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I'm not really sure how to tell you this, but I don't exactly remember you. In fact, I don't remember anything from the time I was ten until a couple of months ago when I woke up at my Aunt and Uncle's house. I'm not really sure what exactly happened to me."

Mrs. Weasley opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for a moment or two, before looking questioningly at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They all nodded, and Ginny looked a little teary.

"Oh my gosh," said Mrs. Weasley, obviously stunned and a little upset. "Is that why you've been gone all this time?"

Harry nodded, and Mrs. Weasley turned sharply towards Ron and Hermione. "How do you know he's really Harry? He could be an imposter."

"I know, but we couldn't think of any good questions to ask him other than what his birthday is, and he knew that of course, but he doesn't know enough because of his memory problem."

Mrs. Weasley looked suspiciously at Harry for a moment, before her gaze softened. "You four must be starving! I'll cook you up something before I contact Minerva. I'm sure she'd like to know where you've been all this time. And Arthur will want to know, of course. Oh, Harry, I can't believe your back after all this time."

When Mrs. Weasley turned around, Ron rolled his eyes and him, and Harry smiled a little. Ginny looked away.

After a few days, Harry felt very comfortable living with the Weasley family. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that Harry be left alone from everyone, except McGonagall, until he adjusted to his new life and new information about himself. Since McGonagall had meetings and a lot of work to do at Hogwarts, she was unable to meet with Harry until almost a week after his arrival at the Weasley home. He was able to meet Mr. Weasley, who was a red-haired man who looked a bit like Ron, and most of Ron's older brothers. Fred and George were his favorites, other than Ron himself of course.

"Eat, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley insisted, watching Harry pick at his food. It was only an hour or so before the Headmistress of Hogwarts would be arriving at the Weasley home, and Mrs. Weasley firmly insisted that everything was perfectly in place for her visit.

"Mum, Harry's going to blow up like a balloon if you don't stop pushing so much food on him." Ron pointed out, snickering under his breath. Hermione looked amused, but Ginny didn't say anything.

Harry hadn't heard Ginny say a word in front of him, and she avoided his gaze every time they were in the same room together. He'd already tried starting a conversation with her, but she'd turned away and mumbled something about _"having more work to do". _

The last thing Harry wanted was to start off on the wrong foot with people he didn't remember, but that remembered him. In fact, all he wanted to do was get his memory back so that he could understand everything that was happening to him, and understand who everyone was.

The banging on the front door awoke Harry from his thoughts. Mrs. Weasley hastened to open the door and, after making sure that it actually was McGonagall at the door, she pulled it open.

A strict looking teacher, who reminded Harry of Ms. Minerva, his teacher at Kinselton, walked in the front door. There were dark lines under her eyes and she looked exhausted. When she caught sight of Harry, she smiled grimly and sat down next to him.

"Hello, Potter,"

"Hullo," said Harry slowly, acknowledging her presence. "Professor McGonagall."

She nodded, and briskly continued. "So Potter, I hear you've had a little mishap. Well, why don't you explain to me yourself? I'm afraid I only have bits a pieces of your story so far."

"I-I've lost my memory, Professor. I'm not sure how it happened, but is there anyway for me to get it back? Because I really, really need to know what happened to me."

She surveyed Harry carefully. "You seem different then you were before. I'm sorry, Potter, but I don't think that there is anyway for you to get your memory back just yet. Of course, I'm going to work as hard as I can at this, but I can't promise any results. We might be able to do something if we knew who cast the memory charm, but so far we don't have any real leads."

"So… there's no hope?" Harry asked softly, "I mean, thanks anyway, but Professor, I need my memory back."

"I'm sorry," she said again, "Really, I am."

Harry closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, accepting his fate. His memory was never coming back, at least not for a while.

Previous


	11. Ginny

The next morning, Harry trudged lazily and exhaustedly down the stairs. There were large, dark baggy circles under his eyes. He'd stayed up most of last night trying to remember, but he found it hard to concentrate. Not to mention, remembering the 'old fashion way' made him feel nauseous. He wished that there were some way for him to go back in time and stop whoever the person was who took his memory away. Then he'd have his memory, and he'd probably be happy. 

Life at the Weasley home was great, but it was awkward. Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley's tried to make Harry feel at home, and they made sure to fill him in about everything.

The only person who wasn't trying to make Harry feel welcome was Ginny. In fact, she didn't even bother speaking to him. She always turned away from him when he tried to start a conversation.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Ron, who looked worried, wrenched Harry from his thoughts. Harry looked up and smiled weakly.

"I'm fine," he said in a false cheery voice, "I was just thinking."

"Oh," said Ron slowly, "Well, if you want, Hermione, Ginny, and I are going to play Quidditch. You probably don't remember this, but you're excellent at flying and Quidditch. In fact, after I explain the rules to you, you should be able to play pretty well. You're a natural."

Harry's ears perked up at the sound of Ginny's name, and he nodded. "That would be great, Ron."

Harry followed Ron out into the yard behind the Burrow. Hermione and Ginny were already out in the back, and both of them held broomsticks in their hands. As soon as Ginny saw Harry, she turned away and divulged in a deep conversation with Hermione. Ron looked knowingly at Harry.

"I'm going to take a few minutes to explain Quidditch to Harry," Ron called to the girls, "And then we can play!"

Hermione nodded, and Ron turned to Harry. "Quidditch is easy enough to understand at first, even if it's not that easy to play your first time around. But don't be too worried, you were the captain of the team in our sixth year, and you were the youngest seeker to play for Gryffindor in a century. There are three chasers on a team, and they try to score with the red ball through the hoops. Then there's a beater who tries to hit these black balls around…."

Harry nodded, and Ron continued to explain the rest of the rules to Harry. When he was finished, he found Harry an old broom, which once belonged to one of Ron's many brothers.

Harry cautiously mounted the broomstick, and stood still, waiting for Ron to instruct him on how to fly. Ron was already up in the air, along with Ginny and Hermione, who looked slightly uncomfortable so high up in the air.

"Just kick off the ground steadily," called Ron from thirty or so feet over Harry's head.

Harry nodded and nervously kicked off. The broom rose swiftly and steadily into the air, and Harry held on tightly. Flying felt wonderful. He felt like he was truly at home, even though he was almost twenty feet off the ground.

"Blimey, you're pretty good," said Ron, "I mean, it took Hermione nearly an hour to do just that."

Harry, who found he somehow knew exactly what to do, turned his broom slightly so he could see Ginny. She was an excellent flyer. Harry watched her for a moment, admiring the way her red hair dangled behind her as she raced through the air. 

"You ready to play?" asked Ron loudly, who seemed to enjoy being in charge.

Everyone stopped flying, and turned their brooms around to face him. Harry hovered and waited for Ron's instructions.

"Harry and Hermione versus Ginny and I," said Ron.

They all nodded and took off. Harry found it hard to follow the game at first, but after a few minutes, he caught on perfectly. Ron had told him that he played Seeker on the Gryffindor team, and that he'd been captain in his sixth year, so he couldn't be too bad at this.

After almost two and a half hours, the four of them agreed to end the game. Harry and Hermione had won by a landslide, mostly because Ginny determinedly flew far away from Harry, even if he posed a threat to her team.

Harry found himself out of breath and exhausted, but very pleased. Quidditch was one thing he knew right off that he wouldn't have a problem with in the coming days.

As soon as the game was over, Ron immediately engaged in a deep conversation with Hermione, leaving Ginny and Harry standing around awkwardly. She watched them without interest, then sat on the ground, looking everywhere but at Harry. He took a deep breath, and trudged over to her, smoothing his hair down in the back self-consciously.

"Good game," he said quietly when he reached her.

She jumped when she heard him, but she didn't say anything. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when she looked up curiously.

"Yes," she mumbled, after a moment. "You're pretty good."

Harry smiled when he heard her speak. She had a pretty voice.

"Listen, Ginny. I'm not exactly sure what happened between us before, but whatever I did that was wrong, I'm sorry. I just want to know why you've been avoiding me." Harry said, determined to find out why she acted like he was a complete stranger.

"I-I missed you," she said softly, without looking into his eyes. "When you were gone, I mean. I missed having you around."

"I missed you too," he said, even though it wasn't fully true. "Well, at least I did after I got your letter."

She smiled softly, "I'm not even sure why I sent that, because I thought you wouldn't get it."

"If you hadn't of sent it I wouldn't be here," said Harry, "because it was something about your letter that made me want to write back."

"It must have been terrible, being stuck at the Leaky Cauldron with nowhere to go and no idea what happened to you."

"It was." said Harry, "I couldn't remember anything, and I kept having these weird visions."

Ginny nodded, and looked off into the distance. 

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Harry asked again, "Because I don't know what I did wrong."

"It's not you," she said, "I-I'm just kind of…I don't know."

"You can tell me." he said gently, glad that they were making progress. 

"How do I know that, Harry?" she asked, tears forming gently in the corners of her eyes. "You don't even remember me! You're not the same person that you were before you lost your memory. You're different now."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. She was right, he wasn't the same person anymore. Not that he was sure exactly who he was before he lost his memory, but he knew he was different in the pit of his stomach.

"You're right," he said in a defeated voice, "but you don't know for sure exactly who I am now. We could try to be friends again, if you want to. After all, Ron and Hermione seem fine with me. They don't seem to mind that I'm different. I just want to go back to being the same person I was before all this started."

"I know," Ginny sat back on the ground. "but you have to understand, Harry, it's different for me. I spent so many years trying to get you to notice me, but you didn't even look my way until last year. And now you don't even remember any of it. Everything would be like starting over again. I'm not sure I could deal with that."

"I'm sorry." he said gently.

"It's not your fault," Ginny turned away from him, and twiddled with her thumbs. "You didn't lose your memory on purpose. It'll be better when you get your memory back again."

"Ginny?" said Harry slowly, trying not to be too harsh. "McGonagall doesn't think I will get it back. She told me it would be pretty hard considering we don't even know who did it."

Ginny fell silent for a moment. , "I guess I knew that all along. My mum didn't think there was much hope either."

"Neither did I," said Harry.

"You don't really get it, Harry. How would you feel if someone you liked suddenly disappeared, and then came back without any memory of you?"

"I-I'd probably feel the same way you do," mumbled Harry truthfully.

"But you're right, it's not your fault." said Ginny, "So I'll just have to accept that."

"So are we good then?" Harry asked hopefully, wishing they could be friends again.

"I guess so," said Ginny, "After all, it's not like there's anything anyone can do about it."

"Ginny?" Harry asked softly after a moment. He liked the sound of her name.

"Yeah, Harry?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I'm glad I wrote that letter back to you. If I hadn't, I'd probably be back at the Leaky Cauldron. Then I wouldn't have gotten to meet Ron, Hermione, and…you." said Harry truthfully.

She smiled, the widest Harry remembered seeing her smiled since he arrived. "Me too, Harry."

"Harry! Ron! It's time to wake up!"

Harry rolled over in his bed and blinked his eyes sleepily. It was several days after his conversation with Ginny, and he'd been happier ever since. Not only did she talk to him on occasion now, but also she was more pleasant in towards everyone in the house.

"What does she want now?" muttered Ron sleepily, pulling his blanket over his head.

"I dunno," said Harry, but he didn't make a move to get out of bed either.

"HARRY! RON!"

Harry pulled himself out of bed, picked up his glasses, and looked at himself in the mirror. Then he pulled the shade on the window open. Sunlight flooded through the room, making him blink.

"I wonder what she wants," said Ron, his voice muffled by the blanket. "Maybe it's breakfast time."

At this thought, Ron pulled back his blanket and climbed out of bed. His hair was tangled and messy in his face, and he had a slightly grumpy look on his face that made Harry snicker. 

"What, Mum?" Ron called down the stairs to the parlor, "Is it time for breakfast?"

"No," came his mother's voice, "The Minister of Magic is going to be here in ten minutes…and he wants to talk with Harry!"

Harry felt his stomach turn over several times. The Minister of Magic wanted to meet him? Suddenly aware of how stupid he looked in his pajamas and bare feet, Harry rushed to put on some suitable clothes. Ron watched in amusement as he tried to put on his pants inside out.

"Honestly, Harry. You don't have to be so excited. You don't even like the Minister that much. Last time I checked, you said he needed to be replaced immediately."

Harry still felt the need to pat his hair down in the back, before looking at himself quickly in the mirror, and stomping down the stairs. Mrs. Weasley was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and she held a wet comb in one hand and a plate of breakfast for Harry in the other hand. She handed Harry the plate, and he began to eat as fast as he could.

"What does he want to talk to me about?" asked Harry between bites, "I mean, I already told McGonagall as much as I could."

"I'm afraid Rufus Scrimgeour holds quite a bit more power than Minerva," said Mrs. Weasley, "He'll want to know the facts for himself, I suppose. Just to warn you, Harry, he might try to recruit you to raise everyone's spirits about the war. He tried that quite a bit last year, and now that you're back without your memory, he'll want to check and see if your views have changed."

Harry nodded. This was quite a bit more complicated than he thought it would be.

"So, he wants me to recount exactly what happened to me?" Harry asked, feeling quite glum at the thought of this.

"I suppose he'll ask you for that, but I don't think he'll press you for the details. No, I think you'll be fine if you tell him the big parts. He shouldn't care all that much otherwise. Don't worry, Harry. I'm sure you'll be fine."

As soon as she said that, there was a small steady knock on the front door. Mrs. Weasley hastened to open it without question, and a very old, tired looking man stepped through the front door. Harry thought he looked rather odd at first. He'd imagined a much more pompous and serious looking person to arrive at the door. Rufus Scrimgeour was neither of these. He slouched a great deal, and his hair was messy and uncombed. Harry felt stupid standing around in his nice clothes.

"Welcome, Minister," said Mrs. Weasley, a flustered look on her face. "No trouble getting here, I presume?"

"No, No trouble at all." said the Minister, setting his eyes on Harry. "Actually it was quite nice. This is quite a nice, erm, house you have here."

Harry knew right off that he did not like the Minister very much. He had a gleam in his eyes that made Harry feel like he was a fish in a small glass fishbowl.

"Well, Harry." said Scrimgeour, "I have to say that I'm glad to see you. You have no idea how much trouble I've been having trying to find you."

"It's nice to see you too, Minister," said Harry politely, although he was lying through his teeth. He could tell in the pit of his stomach that he did not like the Minister at all.

Scrimgeour seemed to be able to tell that Harry didn't particularly like him very much. "No hard feelings from last year I presume, right Harry?"

"Yeah, no hard feelings." said Harry. "Not that I can remember last year at all."

"Ah yes! I almost forgot," said Scrimgeour, although Harry could tell he did no such thing. "Shall we begin then?"

"Okay," said Harry, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Scrimgeour took a seat beside him and looked at Harry expectantly.

"Well, I woke up at the beginning of the summer and I couldn't remember anything…" Harry continued through his very uncomfortable story, as both Scrimgeour and Mrs. Weasley listened intently. He made sure to skip over the most awkward and unnecessary parts of his story.

When he was done, Scrimgeour whistled, "That's quite a story, Harry."

"Yes," said Harry, who didn't know what else to say.

Scrimgeour turned to Mrs. Weasley. "How do we know he's really Harry Potter? Have you checked to make sure he's not an imposter."

"Naturally, we did the best we could do. It's kind of hard to be too specific, considering the fact that he claims his memory is gone." Mrs. Weasley said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Have you tried to identity spell?" Scrimgeour asked, as though Mrs. Weasley should have known.

"The what?" she asked, "I'm sorry, Minister, I've never heard of the identity spell."

For an answer, Scrimgeour pointed his long, thin wand at Harry. "_Appello" _

Harry felt a wisp of air pass through him, and to his surprise, silvery letters formed in the air just beside his face. It took only a second for the word to be finished, and in front of them hung the words: _Harry Potter. _

"How did you do that?" asked Harry slowly, wondering how that was possible.

"The Aurors at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement recently created this spell. It's still in the process of being Ministry of Magic approved." Scrimgeour hastily stowed his wand back in his pocket. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about me using unapproved spells on people. I might get into a spot of trouble if you did."

"That's okay, Minister," said Mrs. Weasley, "That's quite a spell you have there."

"Yes, it's quite useful when handling imposters and Death Eaters," said Scrimgeour. "Especially now. I'll be quite happy when the spell is approved and our Aurors can start using it on the prisoners in Azkaban, and any other suspected Death Eaters. It can also identify people under the Polyjuice Potion."

Harry made a mental note to remember to write down _Appello _on his list of spells that he already knew.

"Minister," he asked suddenly, struck with an idea. "Have the Aurors invented any new spells that could help me get my memory back?"

"Unfortunately, they haven't." said Scrimgeour. "It takes quite a while to invent a spell, Harry. I'll make sure I add 'Memory Return' to their list as soon as I can."

Harry nodded, "Thanks."

"Meanwhile, Harry, I have a favor to ask you." said the Minister.

"Sure," said Harry unenthusiastically, although he had a feeling of dread that he knew what the Minister was about to ask. "Whatever you want."

"Would you mind doing a Daily Prophet interview? It would be ever so helpful if you could make a public announcement about your return to the Wizarding World. If you'd like, I can send an exclusive Daily Prophet reported over to do a story on you. I'm sure it wouldn't be too much trouble if you could do a quick, say five minute, interview? It would be on the front page, and from a much better angle than those other stories speculating on what could have happened to the 'Boy Who Lived'."

"Okay," said Harry, who was looking forward a little to an interview. After all, he couldn't remember ever having an interview, or even being in a paper.

"That would be great." said the Minister, and he sat a little taller. "I'm sure everyone has been really worried about you since you disappeared. It's actually quite extraordinary how you managed to find your way back here."

"Yes it is," said Harry wistfully, his mind still on Ginny.

**Author's Note:** I hope this chapter wasn't too mushy. I tried not to make Ginny and Harry's conversation too dramatic. Also, the word 'Appello' is Latin for the word name. Don't forget to submit reviews!


	12. Rita Who?

The morning that the reporter from the Daily Prophet was supposed to arrive, Mrs. Weasley insisted that Harry wake up several hours too early in order to make himself neat and tidy. She also insisted that he comb his hair all the way through (it hurt quite a bit when she attempted to pull the thin comb through his tangled hair).

"Eat, Harry. You might be stuck with that reporter for quite a long time." Mrs. Weasley hovered over Harry as he gulped down the large amounts of food that she'd served him.

He'd gained a lot of weight while he was at the Weasley home, because at the Dursley house and during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, he'd never been able to eat as much as he wanted.

"Oh goodness," said Mrs. Weasley, "That reporter is due here any minute!"

Harry ate down as much food as he could in two bites, and put his plate neatly in the sink. Mrs. Weasley checked to make sure that Harry's hair and clothes were in perfect order, and hurried to tidy up the house as fast as she could.

There was a soft, tapping knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley opened the door slowly.

"Who is it?" she called cautiously.

"Daily Prophet," said a voice from outside the door to the Burrow.

"Come in!" Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley was trying to make her voice sound pleasantly surprised, but Harry thought she sounded a little bit flustered.

The door opened, and blonde woman with a large handbag clutched in her clawlike hands walked over the doormat with one long stride. Harry was slightly taken aback, her voice sounded much different through the door. She had large, loud glasses on her face and she had bright red lipstick smeared over her lips, making them look several times bigger than they should have.

"Well, Harry," she said, fingering a blue quill in her hand. "We meet again. How very pleasant."

Mrs. Weasley let out a little grunt that sounded like a very angry cat, but didn't object when the reporter walked further into the house.

"But of course," said the reporter in a voice that was obviously meant to be sincere, but sounded very sinister to Harry. "You don't remember that, do you?"

"No," said Harry flatly. "I don't."

"Of course you don't." Much to Harry's surprise, her quill began to write on it's own. The reporter read what the quill had written aloud, "Harry Potter, a boy of merely fourteen, sighs as he struggles to remember the past he lost."

"I'm seventeen," Harry corrected, "And I'm not sighing!"

The reporter paid no attention to Harry, and continued to say the words that the quill was writing, "Stunningly beautiful reporter, Rita Skeeter, watches as young Harry begins to tear up at the thought of the memories that he'll probably never know."

"I'm NOT tearing up!" said Harry loudly, wondering why on earth the reporter acted as though he weren't there. She was writing endless paragraphs of information, and he'd hardly said a word. Not to mention the fact that the 'interview' hadn't even started yet.

"Why don't we go sit down?" suggested Mrs. Weasley in a strangled voice, as though she couldn't think of a suitable reason to kick Rita Skeeter out of the house. "It'll be much more, erm, comfortable."

"Yes, that would be nice," said Rita Skeeter, her quill still writing furiously. Harry eyed it cautiously before following Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.

"So, Harry," said Rita Skeeter in a voice that Harry did not like at all. "You don't mind if I ask a few questions, do you?"

"Actually–" began Harry, who did not like the idea of answering any questions very much.

"Splendid," Rita interrupted, fishing another piece of parchment out of her bag. "So, Harry, tell me what it's like to have no memory of anything from your past, not even the day your parents died. It must be so heartbreaking for you."

"Actually, I can remember up to the time I was ten years old," corrected Harry stiffly, "So I can still remember–"

Rita ignored him, and began reading aloud from the parchment that her quill was writing on, "Harry's cheery, bright eyes fade at the thought of not remembering his parent's tragic death. As many of my zealous readers know, the evil wizard, You-Know-Who, tragically murdered young Harry's parents when Harry was just two weeks old."

"Actually, I was a little more than one year old," corrected Harry, who was now thoroughly annoyed at Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet reporter.

At that moment, Hermione and Ginny came down the stairs, obviously unaware that Harry was in the middle of an interview. As soon as Hermione saw Rita Skeeter sitting at the Weasley's table, she let out a shriek that echoed throughout the house. When she recovered from her shock, she glared at Rita as though she was a bug that needed to be squashed immediately.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Hermione growled, with more force than Harry thought was possible from her.

Rita looked just as unhappy to see Hermione as Hermione did her, although Harry had absolutely no idea why. He guessed that she'd written a horrible story about Hermione, just like Rita was now trying to do to him.

"I thought I told you not to write anymore stories about us," growled Hermione forcefully, confirming Harry's guess.

"Yes," said Rita wistfully, as though she was trying to maintain an air of mystery. "But I distinctly remember you telling me that I was free from our little deal after I wrote that wonderfully publicizing article about Harry a couple years ago."

"The deal is not off," said Hermione in a final sort of tone, her hands on her hips. "I _never_ said that."

Rita frowned, and turned to Mrs. Weasley, "Would you mind if Harry and I went to a more quiet place? I find it hard to concentrate when there are people in the room." Rita glowered at Hermione.

"Well, there isn't much extra space in this house," answered Mrs. Weasley.

"I'm sure a bedroom upstairs will be perfectly fine." Rita proposed importantly, grabbing Harry by the arm before he could protest. Within moments, Harry found himself in Ron's bedroom upstairs.

Rita began reading aloud the text that her quill had written, "Stunning reporter, Rita Skeeter, looks around in disgust as she attempts to find a clean space to sit in. It appears that young Harry Potter's bedroom is a mess."

Harry found it pointless to argue, and waiting for Rita to turn around so he could escape out the door and possibly lock her in. He fingered his wand. Maybe there was a spell that was designed to make reporters disappear from view. Harry smiled slightly for the first time since the interview began.

"So, Harry," said Rita, turning to face him. "My readers want to know. Why did you find it so appealing to disappear from the Wizarding World? Was it because of your tragically lost memory, or perhaps because of the immensely tormenting pressure to be the 'Boy Who Lived'?"

"Er," said Harry, unsure of exactly how to answer, "I didn't want to disappear, I was with my Aunt and Uncle–"

"Who, no doubt, are very worried about you," Rita finished, "What compelled you to run away from your family, Harry? Perhaps it was because of the tragic loss of your parents so long ago?"

"No," said Harry flatly, "I ran away because I–"

"You love your family too much to put them in danger, don't you?" said Rita, her quill scribbling furiously, "That is quite sweet, Harry."

"But–" interrupted Harry, trying to explain to her that she had all the facts absolutely wrong. Unfortunately for him, Rita Skeeter paid him no attention.

"Harry Potter admits that he ran away from his loving family that took him in after his parent's death because he wanted to keep them safe." Rita read aloud, "As he looks around his disordered bedroom, Harry admits that he still loves his family, even though he can't remember any of their time together."

"I told you already, I can remember everything in my first ten years!" Harry said loudly, looking sideways at the quill, making sure it wasn't writing anymore nasty things about him.

"That's quite nice, dear," said Rita, although she obviously didn't care. She was too absorbed in her story too care.

_'This is going absolutely horrible,'_ thought Harry, as he watched the quill write several long sentences about Harry and his terrible forgotten past.

"Can I see that for a minute?" Harry asked, trying to snatch the parchment away from Rita Skeeter.

"No," Rita snatched the paper back and stuffed it into her large bag. "No, I'm afraid I never let the people I'm interviewing read my reports until after they are published."

_**Harry Potter's Latest Mishap **_

_Harry Potter, a young wizard of only fourteen years of age, has fought more battles than the average witch or wizard of today. Stunningly beautiful reporter, Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, watches as young Harry sighs at the thought of never having his memory back._

"Sometime during the summer, I woke up and I couldn't remember anything at all, not even my parent's death," Harry Potter claims, his eyes tearing up at the thought of losing the last pieces of his mind that hold his only memories of his parents.

As all of my zealous readers already know, Harry Potter's parents were tragically murdered when Harry was just two weeks old. The murderer was revealed as the darkest wizard of our time, You-Know-Who. 

"After I found out what my little I could grasp of my past, I left my aunt and uncle's house, even though they've treated me like family ever since I was forced to moved in with them many years ago. I just couldn't put them in any danger." 

Harry read through the rest of the article in disgust. It was worst than he thought it would be. He couldn't believe that Rita Skeeter had actually published the article. Harry flipped to the front page in repulsion. Staring back at him was a huge picture of him, grinning stupidly, and around his there were large flashing words displaying the title of the article.

"What's that you've got there, Harry?" asked Ron, who had just entered the kitchen.

Harry held it out to Ron so he could see for himself, "We just got the article from the Daily Prophet that was about me."

Harry watched as Ron's expression became angrier and angrier, until he burst out loudly, "I can't believe that she actually published this!"

"I know," said Harry glumly, "And now the entire world is going to read it and think I'm some kind of pathetic loser."

"Cheer up, Harry," said Ron, "Last time she printed something about you, nobody believed her."

From Ron's voice, Harry could tell he was stretching the truth a little. It was just as Harry suspected. Rita Skeeter had probably written dozens of articles about him, all of them most likely from the same pathetic angle that this one was from.

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley appeared from upstairs. "It's almost time to go. Ginny and Hermione are almost ready."

"Go? Go where?" said Ron loudly, "You didn't tell us anything!"

"We're going to the Dursley home to get Harry's school supplies! Didn't I tell you that McGonagall wants Harry back at Hogwarts? She says it's the safest place for him, and I agree."

"But Harry doesn't know very much magic yet, Mum! He doesn't even remember any of the lessons we've learned for _the past six years_! How is he going to fit in with all of the other kids at Hogwarts?" said Ron loudly. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

"Don't be silly, Ron. He's not going to be in your classes! I doubt Minerva would put him in seventh year classes. No, he'll be taking mostly first and second year classes for now, and after he gets the basics down, he can move up to higher level classes. And when the time comes that he gets his memory back, he'll go to seventh year classes again."

Ron raised his eyebrows at his mother but didn't say anything. Personally, Harry thought he would much rather be in seventh year classes with Ron and Hermione, and just suffer through the homework. If push came to shove, he'd of even enjoyed going to classes with Ginny in the sixth year.

"What about his Apparation license? Can he still be on the Quidditch team?" asked Ron after a moment, who seemed very worried that Harry wouldn't be able to win Quidditch matches for Gryffindor.

"Minerva told me that she'd sort everything out, so that Harry will have the same privileges as any normal seventh year student. He'll still be in your dormitory, and he'll be able to take Apparation lessons with the sixth years."

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times without saying a word. This was going too fast for him. He felt as though he'd just come home and now all of a sudden he had to go to a school with hundreds of other kids who knew everything about them.

"Don't worry, Hermione and Ginny will help you with the schoolwork," said Mrs. Weasley, giving Ron a little frown. "Because it seems that Ronald can't keep up with his studies, especially while he's the Quidditch captain."

Harry glanced sideways at Ron and saw that his cheeks and ears were turning a delicate shade of red.

"Mum," Ron whined, "I told you that I've been keeping up with my work lately. Professor Moonstone even gave me an A, and she's really hard to please. Hermione is the only person in the entire year who actually gets O's in her class."

"You know that's not acceptable," said Mrs. Weasley, putting her hands on her hips. "I don't think your brothers would have been as successful if they'd given up on the hard classes."

Ron rolled his eyes, and looked sheepishly at Harry, who suddenly felt sick. He wasn't sure that he could handle a bunch of hard classes, especially not now.

"Don't worry, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to have sensed his thoughts, "You won't have too many classes to take, just the ones that you used to take at N.E.W.T. level. I'm pretty sure that you're taking Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Potions. They shouldn't be too hard for you, since you'll be taking them at a lower level. Not to mention all the free periods that you'll get."

Harry smiled at little, but he still fell a little queasy. He still thought it was too soon to be starting school back up again.

"When exactly will I be going back?" Harry asked nervously, hoping he'd at least have some more time.

"Oh, not until after the Holiday break," said Mrs. Weasley, "So you still have a few more weeks."

"So soon?" he asked weakly.

"Don't worry, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, "You'll be fine! Trust me."

Harry nodded, "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

"Shall we go then?"

"I-I'm not sure if going to the Dursley's is a good idea. I mean, they were pretty horrible to me." muttered Harry, "They might not let me get my stuff back."

"Of course they will," said Mrs. Weasley, with a glint in her eye. She pulled out her wand. "I'll make sure of it."

"Okay," said Harry reluctantly, gripping his own wand tightly.

"We'll be Apparating then?" asked Ron.

"Yes of course," said Ginny, who had just come down the stairs with Hermione.

"Everyone ready?" said Mrs. Weasley, looking around to make sure everyone was in one piece. "All right, let's go."

**Author's Note: **Rita Skeeter is really a terrible character, isn't she? I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter….I certainly had fun writing it! Don't forget that reviews are appreciated!


	13. Back to the Dursleys

"I still don't think this is a good idea," said Harry, as he waited for Ron to get ready to go the Dursley's house. "I mean, they probably burned all of my stuff as soon as they could."

"I doubt it," said Mrs. Weasley briskly, "And if they did we can always get you new things in Diagon Alley."

"But…I don't have any money," said Harry, "And I doubt that the Dursley's are going to give me some to buy school supplies. They'd much rather just ship me off to Kinselton again."

At that moment, a large owl with slightly orange feathers crashed through the open window and into the kitchen. A huge, bulging bag was tied neatly to its leg, as well as a short note tied to the other leg. Harry was surprised that the owl didn't drop on its flight to the Burrow, because it certainly looked like it was carrying a heavy load. Mrs. Weasley looked just as surprised to see the owl as Harry did.

"I can't imagine who that's from," she said, looking curiously at the owl, "I wasn't expecting any owls."

"We'll never know unless we open it," said Ginny, smirking slightly. "Unless you'd all rather just stand here and admire that terribly ugly owl."

Harry laughed in spite of himself, and Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and tore the packaging off the bundle that it was carrying. She also carefully removed the letter from the owl's scaly leg.

"It's for you, Harry," she said after a moment of examining the letter. "But I'm not sure who it's from."

Harry creased his forehead in confusion, trying to imagine who'd want to send him a letter. He tore off the envelope, and read the letter slowly:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

We recently received your letter detailing your need to withdraw from Gringotts bank. After carefully reviewing your letter, we've concluded that it is legitimate, and not forged. We've included a small portion of the money in your vault. Please keep in mind that if you want to withdraw any more money you will need to bring your key to the bank. We will not accept any more letter withdrawals from you, as you have reached your limit.

We look forward to seeing you at your next visit to the bank.

Sincerely,

Griphook, Chief of Goblin Staff 

"So…this is all mine?" Harry asked, looking at the fat bag that he supposed was full of money.

Mrs. Weasley looked over Harry's shoulder and quickly read through the message. "My goodness," she said under her breath, "I suppose it is."

Harry opened the bag and spilled some of its contents onto the table. Several fat gold coins clinked together as they came out of the bag. Harry suddenly felt embarrassed, as he watched Mrs. Weasley's eyes open wide at the sight of the money.

"I guess we won't have to worry about your school supplies," she said, "It's taken care of."

Harry stopped staring at the gold for a moment, and looked at Mrs. Weasley. "S-Shall we be off then?"

Mrs. Weasley stopped looked at the gold for a moment too. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We wouldn't want the day to get old."

At that moment, Ron appeared in the room, and set his eyes on Harry's gold. "Blimey! Where did all the gold come from? Does this mean Dad got another promotion?"

Mrs. Weasley laughed softly, "Of course not, Ron. This is Harry's money. The bank just sent it to him."

"Oh," Ron looked slightly crestfallen as he watched Harry scoop the rest of it into a bag.

"Are we all ready to go now?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Ron perked up when he heard this. Harry noticed that he pushed his pockets in further when Mrs. Weasley looked his way.

"You weren't actually getting ready, were you?" Harry asked Ron under his breath, even though he had no idea what was in his pocket.

"I grabbed these from Fred and George's room on my way down," he whispered, pulling a couple of pranks out of his pocket. "I can't wait to see Dudley's face when he sees these. It should get him back for all the times he's been horrible to you."

"Thanks," said Harry, not wanting to spoil the moment by adding that he couldn't remember most of these horrible times.

Ron snickered, causing Ginny and Hermione to look at him suspiciously.

"Ginny, you'll be doing side-along with Hermione. Harry, you'll be with me," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Why can't Harry do side-along with me?" asked Ron indignantly, glaring at his mother.

Mrs. Weasley turned red, "Well–"

"No offense, Ron," said Hermione loudly, interrupting Mrs. Weasley, "But the last time someone tried to do side-along with you, they ended up splinched into eight different pieces."

Ron turned a bright shade of red, "That was an accident!"

"You can tell that to your sister," said Mrs. Weasley sternly, "After all, she did have to spend two days in St. Mungo's."

Ginny looked at the ground embarrassedly Harry smiled lightly. It wasn't really funny, but for some reason he felt the need to smile every time Ginny's name was mentioned.

"Are we ready to go then?" Hermione broke in, her wand in her hand.

"Yes, you're right," said Mrs. Weasley, "We'd better be going."

"On three then," directed Hermione. "One…two…three."

Harry held tight to Ron's arm, and felt the familiar sensation of being sucked down a small rubber tube. He felt a thousand rubber bands squeeze him tightly, and he couldn't breath. He gasped for air as hard as he could, but there was no air to be found. His lungs were screaming, and he was about to become unconscious.

After a few seconds, although Harry could have sworn it was a few minutes, the tube loosened and Harry could breathe. He loosed around. There were standing at the end of Privet Drive. Harry looked around at the familiar surroundings and pulled out his wand.

There was a small pop, and Harry could see that the Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley had shown up.

Mrs. Weasley looked around for a second, and then nodded. "Everyone's here…and all in one piece."

"Shall we go in then?" Ginny said loudly, grinning at Harry mischievously. Harry had a very shrewd suspicion that Ron wasn't the only one to grab pranks from Fred and George's room.

He noticed her pushing her pockets away from Mrs. Weasley, confirming his suspicions. He followed Mrs. Weasley to the door, and waited anxiously as she knocked lightly on the door.

There was no answer, so she knocked on the door again. They waited for a few minutes, but there was no answer.

"Maybe they're on vacation?" suggested Harry, who was happy that his visit with the Dursley family had been delayed.

"No, I don't think so," said Mrs. Weasley. "They're still here."

Harry didn't bother asking how she knew that. "Should we go inside?"

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Mrs. Weasley.

She pushed open the door, and stopped abruptly. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stood directly behind the door.

"Don't come any closer!" said Uncle Vernon, his mustache twitching.

Harry stepped forward. "Uh, Hullo."

Uncle Vernon looked at Harry like he was some kind of disgusting bug. "What do you want? I thought we'd gotten rid of you for good when your school called and said you were gone."

"Anyway," said Mrs. Weasley, glancing at Harry with a look that plainly said, _no arguing until we get your things_, "We just stopped by to get Harry's school things."

Uncle Vernon looked at Harry like he was mad, "You left all of your things at that school when you ran."

"You know that's not true!" said Harry loudly, "You have my broom and my wand and all of my text books!"

"Broom and wand?" repeated Aunt Petunia in a surprised sounding high-pitched voice. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"All the stuff Harry left here!" said Ron loudly, pulling out his wand quickly and pointing it at the Dursley's.

Mrs. Weasley pushed his wand down. "There's no need for that. We're just here to get Harry's stuff, and then we'll be on our way."

"We don't have any of this stuff your asking for," said Uncle Vernon loudly, "So leave!"

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, pulling herself up to her full height. She quickly pulled out her wand and pointed it into the house.

"Accio Harry's possessions!" she said loudly.

As soon as she said it, a crash came from above them. A trunk, a broom, and several more of Harry's possessions came soaring into the room, landing in front of Mrs. Weasley with a satisfying thump. She looked at the Dursleys to see their reaction.

Uncle Vernon scowled at Harry, "All right, we stuffed it all up into the attic."

"We thought we could keep it hidden, especially after he came home without knowing about magic."

"You _knew_ I'd lost my memory and you still didn't do anything?" said Harry loudly, even though he'd already realized that the Dursley's were trying to squash the magic out of him by hiding his stuff and sending him to a public school.

"Well," Aunt Petunia looked uncomfortable, "There was really nothing else we could do."

"You could have contacted someone!" said Hermione loudly.

Uncle Vernon looked rather taken aback by Hermione's outburst, "That's it! I will have no more talk of magic while my son is around. Take your filthy magic stuff and get out of my house!"

Harry took a step forward, grabbed his things, and was about to turn around to leave when Mrs. Weasley pushed him back.

"Wait," she said determinedly, "You should let Harry go up to his room and see if any of his _other_ possessions are here."

Uncle Vernon looked as if he was about to refuse her request, but then he eyed Mrs. Weasley's wand with particular distaste. "All right then, hurry up. I better not hear any of your rubbish magic in this house, or I'll kick you all out and keep whatever Harry might have left behind."

Harry scampered past him to his cupboard and pushed it open, hoping there would be some remnant of his things. Unfortunately for him, it was empty. The only thing that resided in his cupboard was a few empty boxes and a heap of cleaning supplies that belonged to his Aunt Petunia.

"Where's all my stuff?" he said loudly, looking at his aunt and uncle in disgust. "It was all here when I left!"

Uncle Vernon's mustache twitched, but it was Aunt Petunia who answered, "It's all in your bedroom upstairs. I-We moved it."

"Make sure you get all of it!" called Mrs. Weasley after him, "Because we won't be coming back here again."

Harry pulled out his wand in case he met Dudley, and went up the stairs, stepping softly. Meanwhile, he saw Mrs. Weasley and the rest of them invite themselves into the house, much to the dismay of Aunt Petunia, who did not approve of unimportant guests in her perfectly clean household.

He pulled open the door to Dudley's second bedroom, and looked around. There wasn't anything of importance in this room, just some old rubbish and a calendar tacked up on the wall. Harry checked the closet, and saw a little box that was marked, _H. Potter_. Harry picked it up and shook it. It rattled a bit, so Harry opened it.

There was a thick photo album with a picture of two middle-aged people dancing around a plaza. There was a man with hazel eyes and dark black hair that sat up in the back. A pretty woman with bright green eyes and red hair stood next to him. In her arms was a small baby boy with jet-black hair like the man and green eyes like the woman. It looked just like Harry.

With a start, Harry realized that the two people in the picture were moving. They waved at him. After a moment or two, Harry realized that the people in the picture were none other than his parents, and that the baby in the picture was himself.

"Mum? Dad?" he asked softly, even though he knew they couldn't hear him.

To his surprise, and great delight, they nodded. Harry smiled at them in silence for a moment, before tucking the photo album under his arm and walked out of the room. As he walked out, he looked back into his room for the last time, and smiled. He was never coming back to this horrible house.

There was a loud crash, and a girlish scream that sounded like his Aunt Petunia coming from the downstairs parlor. Harry remembered Ron and Ginny's plan to get Dudley back for him, and hastened downstairs. He didn't want to miss any of the action.

A startling sight caught his eye when he arrived in the parlor. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were shielding Dudley from view, a feat which proved hard because he was several times wider than both of them together. But it wasn't this sight that made Harry laugh, as Dudley was perfectly unharmed.

No, Harry laughed because Aunt Petunia's once perfect living room was now reduced to a smell, messy, disgusting swamp. Harry was slightly crestfallen inside when he saw this–he'd been expecting a prank directed towards Dudley.

Aunt Petunia shrieked extremely loudly, making everyone in the house cover their ears.

"My Parlor! I-It's ruined!"

"Not to worry," said Mrs. Weasley briskly, "We'll be on our way now "

"But you'll fix it, won't you?" cried Aunt Petunia throatily, sounding on the verge of tears.

"Of course not," said Mrs. Weasley, "No, I think leaving this here would be the best idea."

And with that, she took her two children by the arms and led them out of the house. Hermione and Harry followed, making sure that all of Harry's things were picked up. Harry noticed that Ron 'accidentally' dropped a very large amount of candies and sweets from his pocket and onto the front rug outside the door, and Harry smiled. Maybe this visit wasn't such a bad idea after all.


End file.
